Heated Shot
by Keridwen89
Summary: When the unthinkable happens, Jordan must try to confront it and accept help rather than doing what she always does...flee! Will she be charged with murder?
1. Her Father

**A/N: I'm doing something terrible here…its really mean but the idea came to me and I'm like noooo I can't kill him off! But it wouldn't let me rest until I wrote it…don't kill me! Ok well please review because I would just love that :D Thanks tonnes for even considering reading…if you got this far you're top stuff in my mind!**

**Disclaimer: Wow you know if I DID own the damn show I wouldn't have had to type this up FIVE FREAKIN' TIMES because my computer shut down! So obviously I don't…wouldn't it be great if one of us did though? sigh**

It was as if the city was suspended in a block of ice. Nothing moved, except the odd raindrop that fell from a building high above, breaking on the stone below. The torrential downpour of rain that was so out of character for the city of Boston at that time of year had ceased, leaving its scent hanging thick in the air, clinging to everything it could get a hold on. Hardly a car was on the normally busy streets below, and those that must move did so slowly and with such lethargy that it barely looked out of place on this sleepiest of sleepy days. The atmosphere was thick, clinging to the people that had to be on the streets, due to one job or another, reminding them that there was something more to life than the train that was running late or the pay rise they would probably never get. Boston was suspended in time.

The inhabitants of the Chief Medical Examiners office in Massachusetts felt this too – the ones who weren't dead, that is. Those patiens were beyond caring if the rain had stopped or started, if their bodies were stretched out on cold tables and sliced into with unforgiving scalpels, wielded by equally unforgiving hands.

One pair of those unforgiving hands were scribbling away madly at the bidding of their owner, Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh, who was desperately trying to get the abominably large pile of paperwork in front of her finished, oblivious to the obvious atmosphere of lethargy that had consumed her colleagues.

Biting back a cry of triumph, knowing it would not be appreciated, she threw her pen down on top of the finished reports and leant back in her chair, silly smile on her face, pleased with her efforts. Rarely was she ever anything but unorganized when it came to the theoretical side of her job. Practical she loved…paperwork? Well who could even remotely enjoy the stuff?

Just as she was preparing to leave for the day – rather early, she knew, but there really was nothing more she could do – her office phone rang. Sighing heavily and picking it up, she barely contained her irritation, she almost barked into the phone.

"Hello?"

"Dr Cavanaugh?" a thickly accented voice queried.

"Yes, who is speaking?"

"Doesn't matter," the voice said. Jordan was about to protest when he started talking again. "There's something down at the Old Boston Wharves that might interest you."

"Is it dead?" Jordan asked, irritably. "Because if its not…"

"Its dead," the man assured her."

"Well you should really be talking to the police."

"I don't think you understand," he said, accent waning slightly. "This will interest you…personally."

"I'm really not authorised to…" She stopped abruptly. What was she saying? "Why will it interest me?"

"Come and find out," the voice said, losing the accent entirely, and hung up. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, familiar enough for Jordan to recognise that it was familiar, but beyond that she didn't know. She cast it from her mind, deciding to follow the instruction. She picked up her jacket and started to leave the morgue.

"Leaving so soon?" Lily intercepted her as she stood waiting for the lift.

"I'm checking something out at the old wharves," she said, thinking it may be handy to have someone know where she was. She was learning.

"Avoiding paperwork again?" Lily said with a knowing smile. She herself had a few reports that neede to be done and would relish a distraction. Hence her third degree of her colleague.

"Uh, yeah," Jordan said as the lift blinked. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye!" Lily said, waving as the door of the lift closed.

It was starting to get dark by the time Jordan pulled up at the old wharves. She felt a twinge of discomfort at being out there alone at this time of night, with only one person knowing where she was, but she disregarded the thought almost as soon as it entered her mind. She _was _learning, but she still had a long way to go. Had that process been any more advanced, she would have done the sensible thing and called the police, possibly Woody, so she could stay relatively close to the case. But she hadn't, and there she was, poking around a bunch of old crates filled with foul-smelling God-knows-whats in search of something dead.

Luckily, or unluckily for her the object of her search presented itself within moments. She made haste towards the lump that was most definitely a dead body, of a mind to check for vitals. What she saw made her wish she had not.

As she went closer the light illuminated the face of the victim, and it was one that was painfully familiar… A feeling of dark horror swept over her leaving her feeling ill.

"No," she uttered, eyes transfixed on the body. "No, no, no…"

She stood, rooted to the spot, staring at the man. His eyes were open in a death stare, depicting the terror of his last moments. "No, no, no…"

The words took on a trance like feeling as she repeated the word over and over, as if somehow that would make it all better, as if somehow that would breath life into the body of the man in front of her, make him smile and laugh and talk again, tell her how much he loved her…

"No…"

--------

Garret sat back against his chair, revelling in its comfort after a long day on his feet slicing open numerous dead bodies that demanded his attention. Well, not literally, of course, he reasoned. How can the dead demand?

_Quite easily…_

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the erratic thoughts whirling around it – as they had a tendency to do on a Friday afternoon. Thinking it was too early to call it a day but knowing there was nothing useful he could commit to, he sat, trying to come to s decision on what he was going to do. Maybe he could walk around and see how everyone was going?

Just as he was about to stand, Woody and Lily came into sight, laughing at something, so Garret hailed them.

"What's got you down here, detective? Some juicy murder I don't know about?"

"Juicy?" Lily laughed, still in high spirits.

"Its been a long day," Garret defended his bad choice of words.

"I was looking for Jordan," Woody said. " I just had to pick up some paperwork on the Mitchell murder from yesterday."

"Not much chance of that," Garret said, smiling slightly, just as Woody's cell started to ring.

"Where is Jordan, anyway?" Garret queried of Lily, as Woody moved away to take the call.

Lily frowned. "I think she got a callout. She didn't tell you?"

"No," Garret said, not particularly fussed. She had probably just gone home for the day, he mused.

"Body down at the old wharves," Woody reported. "Want to come along, Doc? Saves dispatch calling you."

"The old wharves?" Lily said, frowning again. "That's where Jordan said she was going."

"Ah, scratch that then, Dr. Macy,"

"That was about half an hour ago," Lily added. Woody looked alarmed.

"But that's impossible. Who did she say called?"

"She didn't. Just that she was going to check something out."

Garret stood up. "We better go check it out," he said uncertainly, and shared a glance with the young detective. Images were flitting through both their minds, none of them good.

"You don't think…" Lily trailed off. Woody looked at her.

"We better go," he said. Garret grabbed his coat and they left hastily, both fearing the worst.

-------

Once Jordan was able to move again, she backed slowly away from the body, still muttering 'No' under her breath. It was keeping her latched onto reality, the thin thread between this life, and the black hole she could see, was hurtling towards at breakneck pace. She had only seen this hole with such clarity once before, a long time ago, when she had come home from school to find her mother dead on the kitchen floor. Somehow, in some small way, this was worse. If anything could be worse.

Jordan was numb, couldn't feel anything except the rising panic in her throat. She wanted so badly to scream and yell and shake the man who was on the ground, shout at him to get up, to rise, to help her and be her strength like he had done countless times before. He was the only one who could possibly understand, the only one who shared her drive to find her mother's murderer, the only one she could count on beyond any single shadow of a doubt to help her.

Her father, lying slumped unceremoniously on the cold, wet ground of the wharves.

A clammy hand clamped around her mouth, not even fazing the distraught ME, who was still staring in a complete state of disbelief and shock at the body of her father.

"Don't say a word." The voice amazingly penetrated the numb haze Jordan was sinking into. He let her go and spun her around to face him. The face of her brother stared back at her, eerily illuminated by the street light that had come on about 10 metres away.

_Her father. Smiling as she danced around the kitchen with her mother, clapping his hands and humming along to the well-known tune._

"James," she said automatically. Her brother's face looked neither gleeful or triumphant, as she would have expected had _he _killed her father. Instead there was a look of deep concern on his face, tempered with a definite sense of urgency.

_Her father, smiling as she offered him a biscuit, taking it from her chubby four-year old hand, not caring where it had been._

Lying in a pool of his own blood, a gaping wound in his chest.

"We have to get out of here," James told her in a low voice.

"Yes," Jordan said calmly, not hearing, not comprehending anything.

_Her father, holding her and sobbing with her as they watched Emily's body lowered into the ground, trying to accept that she was never coming back. That they would never again hear her voice, see her smile or laugh._

She couldn't do it again. Couldn't watch another coffin sink into the ground, couldn't stand knowing her father was in a box with velvet linings…when his life had been anything but velvet.

"I don't think you understand, Jordan. He will come back. He wants to finish us. You mustn't go after him, not yet."

_Her father. Struggling to keep his teenage daughter in check. Loving her every step of the way. On her side the entire time._

"I didn't do this, Jordan," he said, willing her to believe him. When she didn't answer he grew frustrated.

"Jordan, are you listening to me?"

Her eyes swung around to James, as if only just spotting him.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" she asked calmly, as if asking for directions.

_Her father. Keeping tabs on her when it all got too much. The thread holding her to reality. The pillar of strength she held onto when she was close to collapse._

"You don't understand. He killed them both and he wants you. Us. He wont stop until the whole…family is dead." He was very reluctant to use that word, this being only his third meeting with his sister.

"Family?" Jordan echoed.

James grabbed her shoulders. "You have to come with me, now!"

"But he's dead," she said slowly.

"I know," James said heavily. "We can't do anything."

"We could do CPR," she said almost brightly. "Come on…"  
She tugged on his shirt and he was afraid she had lost it.

"He's dead, Jordan. Dead!" He leant in close. "We have to get out of here!" When again she didn't answer he began to pull her away, take her to safety. He was suddenly overcome with a sense of protection, and it scared him. But not enough to shirk from what he believed he had to do.

"I know where he is, Jordan. We'll hunt him down together."

Jordan surveyed him, eyes betraying nothing. She then turned, stared at her father's body, trying to quash the feeling of rising panic, betrayal and anger. A low moan escaped her. The sound was one of such misery and pain James felt like screaming himself. On impulse, he put his arms around the woman standing in front of him. _His sister, _he realised with a jolt. She fell into him, grabbing onto his shirt and shaking with grief. He extracted himself from her and looked her in the eye. She hardly even saw him, and would recall this incident later as if it were a dream.

"I have to go. If you wont come, have this." He handed her a small slip of paper. "Do not let anyone see it. Come when you can and we'll hunt the scum together, I promise."

James felt stupid making such weak promises. He only had a weak idea of who the man was.

What he had said finally penetrated her numbness.

"Why do you care?" she asked in a bluntness that only accompanies terribly grief. "He wasn't your father."

"No," he agreed. "But she was my mother." _And you are my sister. _He almost said it, but bit it back as the words formed on his tongue.

"He killed them both," Jordan said stonily.

"It's the only explanation," her brother replied. His head snapped around and he cocked his head to on side. The sound of a siren could be dimly heard, in the distance.

"Here's your ride. I gotta run." he said, casting the body of the man who was almost his father an apologetic glance, and squeezing Jordan's shoulder before running off into the night. Jordan watched him go, sensing keenly that she had just lost someone else. The flashing lights and siren suggested that her 'ride' as James had called it had indeed arrived, and she shielded her eyes in the face of the light. A single car screeched to a halt and two figures got out.

"Jordan!" a familiar voice called out, and made for her as he spotted her. "There were shots, someone saw a body…Lily told us where you went…we thought…" Woody trailed off as he saw the look on her face, a look of such bland calmness it could only contain the worst possible of storms. In her hand she clutched a piece of paper as if it meant her life. And it did.

Garret scanned the scene, as was his way, not an easy task when the light was so poor. Spotting a body on the ground he walked over to it, wondering why Jordan hadn't already done the honours. The answer to that question hit him like a tonne of bricks when he recognised the big man's face.

"God, no," he uttered. Woody had joined him, wondering what had gotten Garret so worked up, and also wished he hadn't. Jordan watched, detached, from a distance. Garret turned to her, still at a complete loss for words. Woody was still staring in horror at the body.

"God, Jordan," he said, looking up, also having no idea what to say.

Garret took a step towards her wanting to help her, comfort her. Putting a hand on her arm, he opened his mouth.

As if the touch had incited a great riot within her, she jerked her arm away eyes blazing. She shot the body another angry glance, as if reprimanding it for being dead, turned on her heel and walked away. She threw open the door of her car and sped away, leaving Garret and Woody staring hopelessly after her.

On her way to her apartment, not caring if she was pulled over for reckless driving, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, no doubt in her mind on what she must do.

Screeching to a halt outside her apartment block, she hastened up the stairs, pulling her keys out of her pocket. Grappling furiously with them, she shoved on into her lock and wrenched the heavy red door open, now practically blinded with anger.

_How dare he, _she screamed into her mind. _How dare he!_ She didn't even know to whom she referred.

She rummaged around furiously in her drawers, throwing clothes out onto the floor, until she found what she was looking for. Checking that there were bullets in the gun, she shoved it into her pocket, thinking numbly that she would find a better place to house it later.

She had to move fast, or they would come. She had no doubt that they would follow her. She didn't want their glances, their knowing looks, their _damn _pity. Choking back the tears that threatened to spill forth she struggled to remain composed.

_She was Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh, Medical Examiner for the Massachusetts State Office. She would not be weak; she would be strong, like her father always taught her to be…_

God! Her father! Her throat constricted in grief and she rushed to the toilet, throwing up her lunch into the bowl. When she had finished, she wiped her mouth quickly with the back of her hand, threw some money and a key on the bench, and ran out of the door, not even bothering to close it behind her. She jumped into her car, thinking she would dump it somewhere on the way – she didn't want any chance to remain of her being followed – she sped off into the night, just as the sky began to rain its own sorrow onto the world, yet again.


	2. Diary? What Diary?

**A/N: Hey! **

**Lioness-Rampant - Yeah its kind of a stand-alone…not before not after…just without the whole W/J tension and evil Slokum! So yeah I guess more before. Yeah I was dying to write something with James…he was a great character there is so much they could do with him. And the question is now, DID he do it? And if not, what was he doing there?**

**AthenaIceGoddess: Thanks tonnes:D**

**Garretelliot: Thanks so much these reviews send me jumping around squealing…I love reviews! It makes it all worth it! Well heres some more…hehe just enough…**

**Uh, yeah, usual disclaimer, we all know the drill…**

"Damn it, Jordan," Woody said under his breath over and over, hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white. The shock of seeing Max lying so helpless on the ground, in a pool of his own blood was still gut wrenching – and if he was feeling like this he couldn't imagine what Jordan must be going through. _Another murder, _he thought grimly. _Another one to send her crazy. _

He must have said it aloud, because his frazzled passenger, Garret, who was looking decidedly worried that there would be two more fatalities due to reckless driving tonight, sent him a sharp look.

"Not this time," he said, and winced as his young friend's car flew over a bump. "Would you slow down?" he growled, and Woody sent him an apologetic look, but ignored the instruction. They had to get there before she…

"She's gone," Garret said as Woody screeched to a halt outside. Woody looked at him curiously and he pointed to the place where Jordan normally haphazardly left her car. Woody let out a growl and jumped out of the car, taking the flight of stairs two at a time. He came to her apartment and stared in alarm at the open door. Running in, fearing the worst, hardly even being able to contemplate the worst, he stopped abruptly. Her scent still lingered in the air, Woody would know it anywhere. The scent of her own body mingled with the perfume she used almost religiously hung about, tantalising as well as frustrating the detective. Garret came in, seeing Woody standing stock still, and scanned the room looking for anything. They exchanged a glance and Woody knew that Garret recognised the smell as well, and felt a small twinge of jealousy that he had gotten so close to her, close enough to remember…

Damn, what was he saying? He shook himself angrily, and made himself focus. Clothes were strewn around the room; the drawers and cupboards were hanging horribly open.

"Someone was looking for something," Garret said.

"You don't think it was her?" Woody asked, alarmed.

"I don't know what to think," Garret said, sighing heavily. "We're not going to get any joy here. Lets get back to the morgue and…" Garret almost choked on his own grief. He had known Max well, had sat with him most Friday nights before he sold the bar, drinking, laughing, lamenting. They had gotten on extremely well, because they were so very alike. And both had a fierce love of the woman they both regarded in a daughterly fashion. He blinked hard, hoping that Woody was too distracted to notice his pain. No such luck, the detective was looking at him, eyes full of concern, tempered with a budding bitterness, a bitterness Garret recognised very well. It was the look he sported at his own age, the look that told everyone who could read it that innocence was leaving the building, and wouldn't ever be returned.

"This is wrong, Garret, this is all wrong. We should all be at home, watching the football, stressing over unfinished reports…" he trailed off, waving his hand around the apartment hopelessly. Garret shook his head, but not in disagreement.

"I'll try and call her," he said, and got out his phone. He slammed it down in frustration when she didn't answer.

"Did you expect her to?" Woody said softly, wise in his worry. Garret shot him a look and stormed out of the apartment. Woody glanced around the apartment once more, inhaling deeply, trying to savour the last trace of her, and followed the Chief ME out.

-----

They walked into the morgue, together, bracing themselves for the predicted onslaught. As suspected, Lily, Bug and Nigel were all there, ashen faced. Lily glanced at the two doctors either side of her and spoke for them all, in a strained voice.

"There's a Max Cavanaugh here," she said, begging Garret to laugh at her silliness and send them all home. "We, I mean I…" she stopped at the horribly grieved look on the older and younger man.

"We weren't game to look," Nigel added, unnecessarily. Garret stared at them for a minute before hanging his head and sidestepping them. Lily clapped a hand to her mouth, turning to Woody.

"It's him, isn't it?" she whispered. Woody merely nodded, and watched the three before him reel with the shock.

"No way," Nigel said uselessly.

"My God," Bug said, shaking his head.

"Where is Jordan?" Lily asked of Woody.

"I don't know," he said truthfully.

"What do you mean? You looked for her didn't you?" she demanded.

"She's gone, Lily," he said, following Garret into the crypt. Tears came, unbidden, into Lily's eyes, and she wept for yet another life lost, and yet another wrecking ball slammed into the wall Jordan had been desperately trying to build up. Bug gave her a squeeze; face a mask of shock, and followed Woody and Garret. Nigel looked at her helplessly, and she put a hand on his arm. He patted it absently, smiling weakly, and followed his friends.

Pushing open the door to the crypt, he saw all three of them standing uncomfortably around the lump that was once Max Cavanaugh.

"How are we going to do this?" Garret asked, a very poor attempt at being brusque. The other three saw straight through the façade, of course.

"We owe it to her to do it ourselves," Nigel replied firmly.

"Rene will have a fit," Garret said, an attempt at thinking about something else, anything else. The three doctors stood about, each knowing they would inevitably perform the autopsy; dread falling in their stomachs like lead.

Woody was hardly following the exchange. His thoughts were with Jordan, always with Jordan. He could not begin to imagine how she was dealing with this. He wondered idly where she had gone. Possibly LA again. He thought of following her, but the world was such a big place…

All these ridiculous thoughts whirled around in his head, tormenting him, goading him. He felt like screaming. His thought process was interrupted by the eerie silence that had fallen over the crypt, and suddenly the thought that there were countless dead bodies surrounding him hit Woody like it never had before. He shivered, and stared at the men who had their faces turned expectantly to him. He shook his head slightly, turned on his heel, and left the morgue, leaving the doctors staring sadly after him.

------

Jordan sat in her car, where she had sat all day. She was waiting for dark, like a nocturnal animal, and truthfully, that's what she felt like. Sneaking around, in a gigantic city as though it was a small country town where everyone knew everyone else and nothing was sacred.

Not here, she mused. Not in the great city of New York. She had navigated herself around ever since she arrived at about midnight the night before, looking for the address that her brother had given her. A man ran by her car, shouting over his shoulder. Jordan jumped a mile in the air, and whipped her head around, to see the retreating back of the jogger and his dog, who was panting and following his owner. Nerves recovering, she shuddered, shoulders shaking, and fell still again. Breathing deeply, knowing that to be sick at a time like this would be a huge inconvenience. She remembered the time she was sick at a friend's birthday party, when she was about eight. The girls mother had been so nice, had cleaned her up and driven her home, promising to send her party bag along with the girl the next day. Jordan puzzled at the memory, wondering why it had chosen that moment to float to the top of her mind.

There was a movement across the street, and a man walked into the house she was supposed to be watching. Opening her glove box and retrieving her gun, she jumped out of her car, and walked across to the door. She knocked. When there was no answer she knocked again, louder. She was practically bashing on it when it opened, leaving her hand poised above her head. She dropped it and stared at the man who had opened the door. James.

"You got here fast," he said, almost disconcerted. "Did anyone follow you?"

"No," she said. "No one could have."

"Except your car is out there for all to see."

"No one is going to have a clue where I am, James."

He looked up and down the street furtively before grabbing her arm and pulling her inside. Her first impression of the house was that it was cleaner than she expected. Pictures hung on the walls, pictures of people she had never seen…

"Who are these people?" she asked. He looked at the pictured frowning.

"I don't know," he said. "I think they came with the frames." He gave a lopsided grin, which looked so familiar…anyone else would know that she had seen that look in the mirror, but she couldn't see it. Who looks at someone and says, 'Hey, he looks like me'?

She followed him into the equally clean kitchen, where mugs hung off a mug tree, and there was a vase of fresh flowers on the table. The feeling of suburban family life hit her with such force; she could almost smell the dinner that would stereotypically be cooking, the be-spectacled husband sitting at the table reading a paper, and the wife at the stove with an apron. Jordan shook these stupid thoughts out of her head.

"Why am I here, James?" she asked. It was such a strange question that he stared at her for a minute before answering.

"Because I told you to come."

Jordan accepted this answer right away. "You said you know who did it? Who killed him…them?"

"Not for sure," he said, suddenly wanting to make it all better for her, wanting to find them and bring them to justice, not for him or his mother, but for her.

"He loved you," Jordan said simply. "I could see it."

James started, frowning. "I wasn't his," he said.

"He loved you," Jordan repeated. "I know him." She didn't bother converting it to past tense.

"I'm sorry it had to turn out like this," James said, and Jordan had the feeling that he wanted to say something.

"Spit it out," she encouraged. He shook his head.

"Doesn't matter," he said, and she raised an eyebrow.

"It was you on the phone." It was not a question. James nodded. "Why didn't you say it was you?" she implored, knowing the answer.

"Would you have come?" he countered, and she conceded.

"Probably not."

There was a pause as they sat, the silence deafening.

"So what do you know?" Jordan asked, an attempt at being bright not working, the darkness she was concealing within clearly visible in her eyes.

James' face hardened. "I don't know his name, or where he lives. I know his face and I know he lives here."

"Here as in New York?"

He nodded. "I know his face, though," he repeated. I could never forget it."

Jordan wanted to shake him, but instead tried the sympathetic tactic. "What happened?" she asked softly. He looked at her, as if suspecting insincerity, but shook his head slightly and looked down at his hands, which had suddenly become very fascinating.

"I found out who I was. The diary of the people who raised me…you met them. Samuel and Doris Horton"

Jordan nodded confirmation.

"Any kid would be angry to find out the people they thought were their parents weren't. And that you bore the name of their real son, their _dead _son." He had a look of utter disgust on his face and he leant forward. "I don't even know my real name," he said hoarsely. "Do you know?"

Jordan was startled. It had never occurred to her that his name wasn't James, but it couldn't be. Her father had given him to the people who had _called _him James. She shook her head.

"No," she said inadequately. Suddenly her problems paled into insignificance and she recalled with clarity the first time she had met her brother. He had been angry, she hadn't understood.

"_I got a mother who was murdered when I was ten years old!" she had shouted, angry at him for making her life sound do sought-after, so peaceful._

"_And I got two people who wanted me to be their dead son," he had shot back, slamming his hand into the wall of the house on Broad Street._

She had been too scared and upset to really take in what he was saying, but the disgust he must have felt upon discovering who he really was must have been…she couldn't even imagine. No wonder he carried around such bitterness with him.

He too was remembering their first encounter, how angry he had been, how he had wanted to kill the two people standing in front of him. He almost had, too. Had the trigger halfway pulled. And then _he_ had spoken.

"_So what do you do now, James?" he had asked. "Kill us both?"_

He had lost his nerve, and run. Surprisingly, they didn't follow. No doubt Jordan was too busy browbeating her father for not telling her the truth, demanding to know if there was anything else he hadn't told her. And there was. Plenty more. Max knew far more about Emily's murder than he had ever let on to her. He must have done.

"You said she told you things. Told you everything. That night, the 17th of September, 1979." She was being pedantic for a reason. She just wanted to clarify the Hortons' story, and the story, or lack thereof, given to her by James that night so long ago. He looked at her, knowing this question was inevitable.

"I was a bastard of a child," he began, staring into the wall opposite Jordan. "I was violent, arrogant and malevolent at every turn. I clashed with my father…the man I thought was my father." Even now she could see the confusion in his eyes. After all this time, it still hurt. "We were never really close," he said. "I guess now I know why."

"No, James," she said, suddenly feeling his pain like never before. He had no one, absolutely no one in the world. She knew how that felt, and would not with it upon anyone. "When he spoke of you to me he was regretful. I didn't know why, or what for at the time, but now it's starting to make sense. He did care for you," she said, but knew it was hollow. James could tell she was fabricating as well, but didn't press it. He continued.

"When I was 16, we had a huge fight. He told me I should leave. He didn't go as far as actually kicking me out, but I left anyway. I couldn't stand it."

"What about the diary?" Jordan asked.

"What diary?" James said, puzzled.

"Doris Horton told me you found her diary, the night you left. That was the reason you…" she trailed off, realising he had no diary.

"There was never any diary," James assured her. "She told me. Our mother tracked me down."


	3. Of Scalpels and Body Bags

**A/N: **

**garretelliot - Wow, really? Thanks! That made my day! You're not the only one bouncing:p.**

**GoddessOfSnark: Thanks for reading! Sorry about the typos I'll try to get rid of them in future chapters!**

**Ok well heres the next'un...not sure about the suspense, its not exactly a cliffy at the end but I thought I'd delve into some of their minds - namely Garret and Woody of course...oh and I'm not sure Renee would be coming down personally to stop the autopsy, I just thought I'd throw her in coz I like her! Hehe. Oh and is it Renee or Rene? Ok well usual disclaimer...and as before I added some lines that were actually in the ep 'Ockhams Razor' and 'Don't Look Back' because I like flashbacks and premade flashbacks are even better! But I'm sure the writers wont begrudge me a line or two... Ok well read on!**

Garret had sent the other two away, despite much protestation from them. This was something he had to do himself, he couldn't explain it. If pain must be distributed among them, he would make sure he shouldered it for his colleagues. It was his way.Plus, he felt he owed it to Jordan, and owed it to Max.

He held the scalpel, poised under the left clavicle and hesitated. Never before had he hesitated before performing the y-incision, of indeed any of the other requirements of a post-mortem. But hesitate he did, and the body before him was suddenly alive, Garret's memory spewed forth many memories…memories of the times he and Max had spent together, discussing Jordan, fatherhood and the football, sharing beers and stories, and of course, the annual tradition of solving old cases. He took a deep breath, and tried to psyche himself up. He had to do this.

The door flew open and Garret turned, opening his mouth, expecting Bug or Nigel to come in demanding to be a part of it, demanding to help. He was not prepared for the DA, Renee Walcott, to storm in. Her eyes flew to the body, and she asked, "Max Cavanaugh?"

Garret nodded. Her eyes narrowed.

"I can't permit this," she said simply, preparing for an argument.

"I can't permit you to not permit it," Garret said simply. "Its something I have to do."

"This is way beyond a conflict of interest, Garret," she said, looking at the body, unfazed. "How about I call someone in?"

"No," he said, and she could see he would not be moved.

"The evidence will be torn apart, analysed, for any hint of bias."

Something inside Garret exploded. "Bias?" he just short of shouted, before taking in a sharp breath and looking away. "Bias?" he repeated. "How can I possibly be bias? I have absolutely no idea who could have shot him."

She looked at him blandly.

"Nor does Jordan," he added, for good measure.

"Where is she?" Renee asked, voice softening. He remembered that she too was human and would appreciate his predicament.

"Taking personal leave," he told her brusquely, not wanting to reveal he had no idea where she was.

"You must understand why I cannot permit this," she said.

He looked at her. "And you must understand why I must do this."

She looked away. He stepped forward. "No one has to know of the connection!"

"A damn strong one," she reminded him, and he let out a frustrated breath.

"All the more reason for me to do this!" he said loudly, losing control momentarily. Only Renee could make him this agitated, only she…he shook the thought out of his head. It was over. "What more motivation could someone have?" he implored, voice nearly breaking.

Renee looked at him, weighing him up. "You know I can keep my cool," he said quietly. She broke.

"There is no question of that, I know. Fine. Do the damn autopsy! But don't come crying to me when your evidence is inadmissible!" she snapped, irritation borne of being defeated, of not making him see what mistake he was making. She knew she had the power to completely divert the case, but could see it would be practically futile. He would worm his way into the case anyhow. She gave him one last, exasperated look, before turning on her heel and leaving the room. He sighed, and turned back to his charge, hands steady, head cool. He was Garret Macy, after all. He had an example to set, and a murder to solve, and he'd be damned if he'd let some trumped up DA overrule him. Scalpel poised again, he didn't stop to procrastinate, and began the autopsy.

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"Alright!" Woody barked into the phone, rubbing his forehead absently with his hand. "I'll wait. But make it quick!"

He had just relayed Jordan's number plate to the last state police force in the US. It had taken him all night, but he had finally finished. She could be literally anywhere, he reasoned, and he was determined to be thorough. He put the phone back onto the receiver, and stared out of the small but adequate window in his office. He watched people scurry by, in a hurry to get home to their families, and thought of the home he would go to. A small apartment, well-furnished, sensible, plain, boring. On a normal night, he would open a beer or a bottle of scotch and plonk down in front of the TV, reviewing case files for the day before finally turning on the black box, and watching whatever the hell was on. Thus was his life. He lamented for a second that he had no one to share it with, no lover or family, but reasoned he was well-suited to his solitude. He was sure some day it would all pan out.

He was weary, and could not think of a single thing more to do to help Jordan. He had placed tabs on her and her car, but it was likely she had just dumped it somewhere on the side of a long lonely road in the middle of nowhere. A memory came to him, unbidden, of the night he and Jordan where marooned in the desert with nothing but a bombed out '59 cadillac and the makings of a fire. They had talked, about what he couldn't remember. Then the talk had gotten more personal. He had told her about when he first came to Boston he had wanted to portray a 'certain image' and so skimped on his living space to buy a new suit. They were sitting close, too close for normal comfort. The tension had been thick in the air, and both of them were growing more and more excited.

_"I'm sorry, Woody," she had said, staring into his eyes. "What for?" he had asked, surprised. "For not knowing you better." "A little hard when your life's philosophy is 'don't ask, don't tell'." She had grinned wryly. "I could try a little harder," she said hoarsely, eyes straying to his lips. "Ask more questions…or just…"_

He recalled his head swimming as she leant forward and kissed him full on the lips. Surprised, he had responded in kind, but before they could fully enjoy the experience it had been rudely interrupted. Woody wasn't fazed. It had been enough. He sighed, emerging from the memory, her scent coming back to him with clarity, and he remembered the night before…was it really only a few hours ago? He had stood in her apartment and sensed her loss; it had been a blow to him, almost physical. He would have probably have stood there much longer had not Garret, good, sensible Garret, come in to direct the investigation. Who are the detectives here? Woody asked of himself dryly, recalling all the investigations he had conducted with Jordan and Garret, so infuriatingly alike in their morals and actions. He wondered why they did not clash, and then remembered the obvious love between them. He winced at the word, but there was no other way to describe it. Jordan would go to any length for her boss, and Garret, he knew, would do exactly the same, if not more for his tear-away employee.

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Jordan stared, not comprehending. "But she…they said that you found Doris' diary!"

James shook his head. "I didn't even know she kept one," he admitted. "She tracked me down."

"How?" Jordan said, numb.

"I don't know," he said. "Truly I don't. I suspect Max kept my whereabouts from me. She was intelligent, though. Probably put 2 and 2 together…she knew all about the case he was working on of course. About the real James. The one who died."

His throat constricted and he was once again hit with the realisation that he was a phoney, a fake, an impostor. The _real _James, he said over and over in his mind. _The one who died. I am not James!_ Staring back at Jordan, seeing her watching him, he cleared his throat.

"She put a letter in my locker at school. At least I'm pretty sure it was her."

"A letter?" Jordan repeated stupidly. He nodded. "Do you have it?" she asked in a hushed voice, and he stared for a minute before nodding slowly. He watched her reaction, watched her sit up straighter, watched her eyes light up with anticipation.

"It didn't say much," he said uncertainly, but she urged him to go get it. He did, and came back with a piece of paper clutched in his hand. Her eyes locked onto it, and he held it to him, somewhat reluctant to part with it. Jordan's hand twitched, he could tell she was bursting to snatch it from him. He held it out to her and she grabbed onto it. Her eyes narrowed as she opened it, then they widened, and she let out a choked sob. He could tell she hadn't read a word of it, because it contained nothing that would spur an emotional reaction. She knew the writing, he realised with a jolt. And he was true. That loopy, cursive handwriting that was so unique to her mother, the writing she thought was gone forever. She passed her hand over the paper, feeling the indentations the writing had left, knowing her mother had made the marks on this paper. A tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek, to land on her brother's clean linoleum floor. She cleared her mind and began to read.

_James, _it read. _They are not your parents. Come to me, come to 1947 Broad Street, tomorrow night, the 17th of September. I'll show you who your real parents are._

The note was not signed. She looked up from the paper at James, who continued as if there was never a break.

"Obviously my curiosity was aroused. It had never occurred to me before that my parents were not my parents, and I was suspicious. I confronted them about it, perhaps me aggressively than I should have done." He sunk deep into the memory, remembering the night his world had turned upside-down. "They confessed to the whole thing. They wouldn't tell me where he was though. But I had the address."

"You left."

"I left. I went straight to her house…your house. You were…" he paused. "You were asleep."

"Did you see me?" she whispered, eyes prickling as he nodded.

"She showed me. You were so small," he commented, and she refrained from making the sarcastic comment that would make life so much easier for her. The dry wit she tapped into every time life got just that little bit too hard.

"Then we talked," he continued. "She told me she was my mother, right at the start. That I was the fruit of a forbidden relationship…" he stopped suddenly and laughed, a sharp, barking laugh that caused chills to run down his sister's back. "I'm making it sound so romantic," he said bitterly. "It was two people fulfilling their lust, their damned lust!" He was breathing hard, and making an effort to calm down, but he needn't have bothered. Jordan was totally on his side.

"She forgot to mention the whole 'trying to kill me' incident though." He looked at Jordan uncertainly. "Did he mean it?"

Jordan was, for the umpteenth time that night, taken back to their first meeting.

_"She was holding you under the water," Max had confessed, voice breaking with the memory. "I pulled you out of her hands myself."_

_Shocked at the revelation, James had grown angry again._

_"That is not why!" he shouted as a means of distracting them all from the terrible accusation._

Jordan had been disgusted. She knew her mother had been sick…but to go that far? It wasn't fair. On any of them, James, Max, herself. Damn, life was a bitch.

"He meant it," she assured him. "Rarely does he lose his cool. He was clearly in distress at the memory. He meant it," she repeated, and James nodded.

"I thought as much," he said unnecessarily.

"What else did she tell you?" Jordan asked, tired and weary now, her lack of sleep and grief trying valiantly to catch up with her, and she was running furiously from them both.

"Nothing that really relates to this. To you. Except that she was being followed."

"Ah," she said, not bothering to pursue the matter. Jordan looked out of the window, suddenly uncomfortable. She wouldn't be safe here for long. She, like her mother, was being pursued. Luckily for her, not by someone who wanted to kill her. She was pretty sure Garret and Woody would be doing everything in their power to hunt her down…but she didn't want to be found. And when Jordan didn't want to be found, Jordan would not be found.

"We're not fugitives, you know," James said.

"You may not be," she replied wryly. "I have to get my car out of here."

"Right," he said matter-of-factly, standing up. "Time to dump your old vehicle then."

"Well not exactly dump," she said uncomfortably. "I'm probably going to need it."

"Nonsense," James said practically. "I'm guessing the people after you are friendly?"

She nodded. "Then just dump it, set them on the wrong trail, and I'm sure they'll keep it for you. I'll follow and give you a lift back."

Jordan stood reluctantly. "Alright."


	4. Low Blow

**A/N: Hello! Thankyou eternalgorithm, azncinnamon and maehsweet for reviewing Ch3! Uhm...what to say about this chapter? Uh oh yeah, I think I screwed up the time frame, but bear with me. Also the American geography is probably all out of whack, I defend myself by telling you I am an Aussie...I just looked at a map and took a guess on how long it would have taken them to get to Philadelphia! Anyway it doesn't really matter...oh and this chapter's pretty much all dialogue, but bear with me... ok well don't let me keep you, read on!**

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Garret sat in his chair, hands shaking slightly, remembering what he had done. It had seemed like a betrayal, but he knew that to do anything less would have been the betrayal. Maybe he had been stupid to do it himself, maybe Renee had been right. As if in confirmation of that thought, she walked in.

"Garret?" she asked, uncertainly. He looked at her.

"What do you want?" he said, a little too harshly perhaps. Her eyes narrowed.

"What did you find?"

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked. She sighed, exasperated, and looked at her watch.

"Approximately 11:30pm," she told him smugly. He was surprised, sure it was much later.

"What are you doing here?" he asked unnecessarily.

"I want to know what you found," she repeated patiently, and sat down on the chair in front of his desk.

"A bullet," he said brusquely. "What did you expect?"

"Who did the bullet belong to?"

"No way to tell," he said. "Nothing."

"Are you sure there was nothing?"

"Damn it, yes I am sure!" he shouted, standing and bashing his hand down on the table. Renee watched him blandly.

"Go home, Garret."

Garret did not calm down. He couldn't.

"No!" he pushed past her and left the room, unable to look at her, so calm, so indifferent, at such a time. She followed him into the conference room.

"You don't know where she is, do you?" Renee chanced a guess as to the reason for his frustration. She knew that doing the autopsy on Max Cavanaugh would have exacted its toll on the Chief ME, but he would not have become frustrated. Introspective and reflective, sure, but not this angry!

"No," he admitted, staring out the window.

Renee let out a sigh. "Damn it, Garret, why didn't you say anything?"

"What would you have done?" he asked.

"A lot more than nothing," she replied. "Have you got anyone else working on it?"

"Detective Hoyt from the…"

Renee rolled her eyes, unable to believe the stupidity that this intelligent man was showing.

"I know who he is! I also know that there is or was something going on between them! Why is this so enclosed? You did the autopsy and Hoyt is looking for her? What has gotten into you all?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Garret said, calming down.

Renee practically spluttered, "I don't know? _I _don't know? That's it, you're gone! You're off this damn case! I shouldn't have even let it go this far!"

Garret looked at her. "Go to hell," he said, icily, before striding out of the room.

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"Where?" Woody almost yelled into the phone. He had fallen asleep on his desk hours ago, and had jerked awake at the sound of his phone shrilly reminding him he had a job to do. The voice on the other end was just the one he wanted to hear, luckily for the man, who would have gotten a much worse reception if he was irelevant. It was the man who would tell him where the car was.

It was parked outside a house in New York. At least it had been.

"What do you mean, its not there anymore?"

"What do you think I mean?" the irritable voice came. "It was there, now its not."

Woody made an effort to calm down. "Did your man see it leave?"

"Of course," the man said, but did not elaborate, sparking the detective's anger again.

"Well tell me!"

"Alright! A woman drove it away, but she was followed."

"Followed?" he asked, alarmed.

"But there's no way she didn't know the guy was following her. He was in plain sight. The numberplate was slightly obstructed and we didn't get the plate. It was a white van, though."

"A white van in New York?" Woody said dryly. "Well there's a stretch. Lets just go an arrest everyone with a white, damn van!"

"There has been no crime, Detective Hoyt," the man assured him.

"No?" Woody said. "I'd say murder is a crime. But that could just be me."

"Murder?" the man asked mildly. Woody related the story. "I'm sorry about that," the man said. "But I can't do a thing about it. You want to investigate? Come down here."

He made his leave and hung up the phone, leaving Woody even more worried and uncertain than before. Who would be following her? And why? He felt helpless, and truly, he was.

-------

They had driven for hours, on James' instruction, and had dumped her car just outside of Philadelphia. She had climbed wordlessly into his van and they had made the slow journey back to New York.

"I have the distinct feeling that was stupid," Jordan said, breaking the silence. James looked doggedly out of the window.

"Probably," he conceded. "You got a better idea?"

She was silent. "So…what happened next?" she asked, as if there had been no break in their conversation. Surprisingly, James took up the narrative gladly.

"I told you she said she was being followed?" He waited for Jordan's nod. "She didn't know who it was, only that it had something to do with Max and his work. Some case he was working at the time."

"Why did they want her?"

"Oh, not just her. You and Max, too. I'm sure if he had known at the time that I existed, I would be targeted too."

"Why?" she asked, numbly, wanting to know all he did.

"Why do they commit crimes to start with?" he countered. "He wanted revenge, I suppose."

"Against my father?"

James nodded. "Yes."

"What did he do?"

"I don't know!" James said, frustrated. "I have no idea who it is, and no way to find out. We need to know what case he was working on." James gave her a sideways glance, which she caught.

"Oh, no," she said. "I'm not calling them. Damn it, James, they're looking for me! They'll be able to trace the number!"

"So what, Jordan? You're going to have to face them sooner or later. They wont find you, anyway. Look, I'll stop here."

Jordan nodded, knowing she would have to ring them if she was going to find out who killed her father. She pulled out the phone that she had secreted in the pocket of her jacket, and dialled a number.

"Hey, Woody," she said simply. James heard the exclamation on the other end of the phone.

"Jordan!" he yelled into the phone, causing her to have to hold it a few inches from her ear. "Where are you? Are you all right? What happened?"

"Calm down, Woody," she said. "Everything's ok." She said what he wanted to hear, but it wasn't enough for him.

"How can everything be ok?" he asked hoarsely. "I…" he trailed off, at a loss for words. Jordan took a minute to compose herself, the concern in her friend's voice overbearing.

"I am fine for the moment. I need a favour, though."

Woody wanted to berate her, tell her she needed to come home, but he melted instead.

"What?"

She was mildly surprised at his immediate willingness to comply, but didn't press the issue.

"I need to know what my father was working on around the 17th of September," she said, bracing herself for the onslaught.

"Jordan…" Woody began. "Will you please tell me where you are?"

"I can't, Woody," she said, frowning.

"Just tell me you're ok. Give me some sort of clue, if you're not."

"I am fine. I promise."

"You better be," he warned her, and she made her leave and said goodbye before he totally tore her resolve apart. She wanted to tell him where he was, let him come and make it all better for her like he had done so many times before. But she steeled herself; they had a murderer to catch, after all.

"He'll call me back," she said to James, who nodded and started up the car again.

"I'm sorry you had to do that," he said after a while, noting the faraway look in her eyes. She looked at him and nodded.

"It had to be done."

They drove in silence until they reached his house. He parked around the back and they got out.

"Now we wait?" Jordan asked, looking at her brother.

"Now we wait." He looked at Jordan, noticing her bloodshot eyes and less-then-perky state. "When was the last time you slept?"

She thought back. "Friday morning," she replied truthfully. Seeing as it was now Sunday morning, technically, that was no mean feat.

"Go get some sleep," he ordered, but she shook her head.

"No thanks," she said. "Maybe a shower, though?"

He nodded and pointed her to the bathroom, fully understanding why she didn't want to put herself at the mercy of her cruel, subconscious mind. He wouldn't want to, either.

Her cell phone started ringing. He looked at it, not knowing whether he should answer or not. He shook his head, realising they would worry more if she did not answer.

"Hello?" he said. The voice on the other end turned hostile.

"Who is this?" it asked. "Where is Jordan?"

"Hey, calm down. I should ask you the same question. Who are you?"

"Detective Hoyt, Boston PD. Now where is she?"

"I think she's in the shower," he replied mildly, knowing he sounded like a crook.

"If you touch a hair on her head I swear I will hunt you down and rip you apart," the detective growled. James frowned, mildly disconcerted.

"Doesn't sound too pleasant. Oh wait, here she is now."

Jordan stood, towel wrapped around her, hair wet and dripping. He handed her the phone.

"Woody?" she said.

"Jordan!" he sounded relieved. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Do you have the case?"

He ignored her. "Who is that guy?"

"A friend," she answered. "You've met."

"Damn it, Jordan…"

"Just tell me what he was working on, Woody, please."

He hesitated, before giving her the information she wanted. "He was working on a drug ring case in September 1979."

"Who was connected?" she asked quickly.

"A whole heap of people," Woody said, and she heard the rustling of papers. "How about a deal? You tell me where the hell you are, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

"No can do, Woody," she said. "Tell me."

"I wont," he said uncertainly.

Jordan exhaled. "Listen. You were just the quickest way to get this information. I have the resources to get it myself."

"Like hell you do, Jordan!"

"Like hell I don't!" she retorted, angry. He sighed deeply on the other end.

"Fine," he said. "Fine. Get yourself killed, see if I care. There were two men and a woman involved. Thomas and Rebecca McKinley, a married couple, and Jack Koreldy. All three were convicted, though not by Max, on the 19th of September. They were tried a few months later, and convicted. Koreldy was suspected of a few murders but there was never enough evidence to try him."

"Where are they now? Can you find out? How long were they in jail?"

"One step ahead of you. The McKinley's were sentenced to 7 years. Rebecca died in custody, in 1982. Thomas was released in 1986, and lives in Louisiana. Koreldy got 17 years, was released in 1996, and is now living in New York." He told her the address.

"Thank you, Woody."

He said nothing.

"I mean it," she continued.

He paused. "Are you coming home? Ever?" He was remembering the money and key on her table, she surmised.

"I…" she didn't know how to answer him. "I don't know."

"Jordan… keep in touch."

"I will," she said, and hung up.

"I think our best bet is a Jack Koreldy, seeing as he lives in New York. The other guy is in Louisiana."

"Koreldy…" James tested the name. "Never heard of him."

"It's a bit of a long shot," she admitted. "But it's worth a try."

"Maybe you should get dressed first," he said, amused, and nodded towards her lack of clothes. She reddened, and nodded, leaving the room. She came back a few minutes later, looking decidedly dishevelled, but the better for being clean.

"Shall we go?" she said, and he noticed a bulge in her pocket. She followed his gaze and shrugged. "Gotta be prepared."

"Does your over-protective Detective buddy know you're packing heat?"

"I'm not doing anything illegal," she diverted, and walked past him. "Lets head off." She told him the address. "You said you knew his face?" she said when he still seemed reluctant.

"This guy. If he killed them, he is not going to have any qualms about finishing us off. Probably wants to. If he killed her all those years ago and left it at that I wouldn't be so worried. But he has killed, recently. Jordan…!" She had shaken her head and walked out, towards his car.

"I'm going. Come or don't, its your perogative."

He didn't have a choice, of course, so he jumped into his car. Suddenly, two men jumped out from behind a bush, and pointed their guns at them.

"Cops," Jordan muttered.

"Damn,"James said.

"Get out of the car, now!" one of them called. "Get out with your hands up!"

They glanced at one another and stepped slowly out of the car.

"Low blow, Woody," Jordan muttered. "Low blow."


	5. What if She Loses It?

**A/N: Evening everyone! Next chapter! Oh and just to clarify, Woody didn't order their arrest…I just thought that'd be her first thought. Ok ok I lied, I was going to make it as though he HAD ordered the arrest but I couldn't see how that'd work…but obviously it wasn't a coincidence… (A/N continues at bottom…hehe)**

**GoddessofSnark – Rough? I can believe that seeing as I hardly even read over it before I post it…hehe…but how can I make it better? Just practice or is there some secret writers technique:p Ah, thanks for the geog info!**

**Thanks, oranges13 :D**

**Lioness-Rampant – I know wasn't that heartbreaking? Thankfullt this time Woody didn't have much to do with her arrest…thank god!**

**MartinaCruz- Many thanks! I love reviews! 'Specially seeing as if its bad no one reviews it so one never gets any bad comments…**

**BadSlayer: So you WONT tell me your old account? Party pooper! Yeah I know, Word said I had spelt it wrong but it looked stupid 'prerogative' also thanks for the advice I'll try not to let that happen to myself (Brit's plight…) Yeah EXACLTY, actually the whole H&A thing is what made me remember poor ole James…also, a question, did they show Oh Brother Where Art Thou in Aust? Coz I must've missed it! But its ok coz I read the transcript…ok shutting up now…read on!

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Garret went home, in the end. He knew there was no use staying where he was; there was nothing more he could do. He had determined that Max had been shot, with a 32-calibre handgun, not able to be identified. There was nothing else that could possibly link anyone to the scene, except a hair that was obviously Jordan's.

_Would she become a suspect? _The thought hit Garret like a tonne of bricks. Of course he knew that she was so far from being anywhere near a suspect, but to someone else it was the perfect arrest. She was there, he was dead, what more did they need? He was suddenly worried; who would Rene bring in? For he was sure she wouldn't give up, like a dog with an especially juicy bone.

_She just likes winning, _he thought. _And I allowed her to. _Staying calm was the key, staying in control. He would have to show her she had been mistaken, would have to show her he was the best guy, no, the only guy for the job. As for Woody, well, he would just have to fend for himself. Garret was sure he'd do fine.

As if on cue, his cell started ringing. Looking at the number he saw it was indeed the detective in question.

"Woody," he said.

"Hey, Doc," the detective said wearily. "You still at the morgue?"

"Nope. I was kicked out."

"Kicked out of your own morgue," Woody said dryly. "Wonderful. Does Walcott have anything to do with this?"

"She has everything to do with it," he said. "She's kicking us off the case."

"My ass she is," Woody said mildly, taking it in his stride. Garret was surprised; he had expected more of a reaction from the young detective. "I heard from her."

Garret sat forward. "What?" he snapped. "Where? Is she ok? Is…"

"She's fine," Woody cut him off. "Or so she says. She wanted to know the case her father was working on when her mother died."

"And you told her?" Garret asked, incredulous.

Woody suddenly felt very stupid.

"Bad idea?" he asked.

"Worse than bad. You better get over here and we'll work something out."

"She would have got the information anyway," Woody defended himself.

"Maybe," Garret said cryptically.

"Her car was in New York."

"Was?" Garret asked. "Where is it now?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I rang all the police departments in the country."

"Damn," Garret almost whistled. "That must've taken you, what, 4 hours?"

"Five and a half," Woody said. "But who's counting?"

"So she was in New York."

"Yep. Parked outside some suburban house."

"Who does the house belong to?"

"One Adam Macklin. I ran his name through the database. He was squeaky clean. And I mean squeaky. One or two speeding tickets, but that's it."

"So why was she visiting him?"

"Maybe she wasn't," Woody said, a distinct shrug in his voice. "She could have been seeing anyone who lived on that street. She doesn't want to be found; you'd think she'd be more careful. In theory, she could have been seeing someone anywhere in the city. It worries me that she's in New York, though. I mean, she was there even before I told her about Jack Koreldy."

"Who?"

"The guy Max put away, or at least, helped to put away, in September 1979."

"Damn," Garret sighed heavily. "What do we do?" There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, and it took on a tone Woody hadn't heard before.

"We wait," he told Garret, trying to sound like he knew what he was doing.

"Waiting," Garret said. "One thing I'm good at."

"Really? You can teach me," Woody said dryly.

"Come around," Garret offered to Woody's surprise. "We'll try and figure this out over a drink."

"Sounds like a plan to me," he replied.

Half an hour later they were sitting on the two couches in Garret's lounge room, sharing a bottle of Garret's preferred whisky, and talking about their common factor.

"So why did she go to New York?" Garret said, wanting to get the ball rolling.

"Somewhere to go?"

Garret shook his head, staring into his glass. "No. She wouldn't just…go there. She has no links to the place, has never been there for any length of time."

"So there was some reason." Woody cast around. "She needed to see someone?"

"Who? She doesn't know anyone in New York."

"Not that you know of," Woody countered, and Garret nodded.

"I guess you're right. Who did she need to see? Someone who had something to do with Max?"

"I'd say so. I don't think she'd be paying too many social visits right now."

"Alright, think back," Garret said, frowning slightly. "She got a call."

"Lily said she did, yeah."

"Who called her?"

"The killer, maybe? But it's a long shot, it could just as easily be the guy who tipped off the police, or any other person wandering along that stretch."

"You're right," Garret conceded, yet again. "So she went to her apartment after she left us."

"We surmise that she did," Woody corrected.

"Lets continue to surmise that," Garret said stiffly. "Why would she go there, if not to get clothes? Which it doesn't look like she did."

"I don't think she'd be taking her gun to the morgue with her every morning, Doc," Woody said.

"Then that's it! She grabbed her gun! Nice work, detective."

Woody frowned. Garret continued. "So…she took her gun, left her money and key on the table…making it look like she's not coming home."

"Why did she take her own car, though? If I were her I would have taken the taxi. Harder to track."

"There's your first mistake," Garret said, smiling slightly. "Don't ever try and get into Jordan's head. Go for your life with a serial killer, though, I'm sure they'd be far more predictable."

Woody saw the truth in what Garret had said. They were silent for a few minutes. "I can't believe he's dead," he said, suddenly. Garret's face hardened.

"I wont be able to recall his face without seeing another one, dead, next to it," Garret confessed. Woody looked at him, surprised. Rarely would Garret open up, if even slightly.

"You did the autopsy," Woody said. "I thought you said Rene was bringing someone in?"

"She said that after I had done it."

Woody cursed inwardly, not wishing that on anyone.

"I could never…" he began, then sucked in the words that were trying to follow, realising he was being tactless. "I'm sorry…" he began.

"Its ok, Woody," he began. "I didn't think I ever could, either. Damn! Had you given me this situation yesterday, I would have said call someone else in, before even Rene. But seeing him there, so pale and helpless…" He shook his head. "I couldn't not do it. I felt like I owed it to him."

"Both of us should, theoretically, just distance ourself from this entire investigation, you know that, right?"

"'Course," Garret replied. "But I'm not going to go down lightly. Rene will have to drag my sorry ass away from the morgue herself before I move."

"Nice image," Woody said, again surprised, but was careful not to show it.

They were silent for a while, each lost in his own thoughts.

"Jordan isn't going to be dealing with this well," Woody said, quite unnecessarily.

"You think?" Garret replied dryly, lack of sleep finally catching up on him.

"What if she completely loses it?" Woody pressed, wanting reassurance from someone older and wiser, who had known Jordan longer than he, that she was going to be alright. It was not forthcoming.

"Too late," Garret said. "I don't think she could 'lose it' much more."

"Mm," Woody said, resting his head on the back of the lounge. "Maybe."

"Maybe if she doesn't find this Koreldy guy she will just give up," Garret said, and Woody looked at him.

"Fat chance of that," he said, surprised. Garret nodded.

"See the pointlessness of maybes and what ifs?"

Woody sighed, and sat forward, draining his glass. "I better run," he said.

"Not advisable," Garret said mildly.

"I haven't had that much," Woody said.

"Well I draw the line at doing your autopsy when you come in the morgue dead tomorrow," he countered, sending a chill down Woody's spine, for some inexplicable reason.

"Wow, you're cold," Woody observed, before complaining. "I'm not walking! Its too far!"

"You can have the couch, then," Garret said, standing. "I'm off to bed."

Woody was too tired to argue, so he stretched out on the lounge, feet dangling over the side, and fell asleep straight away.

Garret, however, could not sleep. He lay in his four-poster bed, staring up at the ceiling, illuminated by the moonlight that filtered through his window, thinking about what the detective had said.

_What if she completely loses it? _That was probably the last of their worries. He reasoned that he really would draw the line at _her _autopsy, should she need one before he. Then why, _why _did he do Max? It wasn't the first body he had done that he had seen alive. So why did the face of Max laughing, and smiling, continue to join with its more sinister counterparts – the bloodied face and the blue one, to plague him? He never should have done it, he should have listened to Rene, he should have listened… He finally fell into a fitful sleep, but it did not rescue him from the faces that continued to taunt and laugh at him, baiting him, screaming to him to stop, stop slicing with that damn cold scalpel, it hurt him, it hurt….

------

Jordan looked at her watch. She and James had been sitting around for about three hours, and it was now nearly midnight. The NYPD had told them nothing, had bunged them in a room and left them to stew. James was trying hard not to nod off, but his eyelids drooped and his head felt heavy. It dropped onto his chest and he fell into a fitful sleep, the first one he had had since just before Jordan had arrived.

Jordan noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye, and watched her brother sleep. It was a strange feeling. He looked so helpless, yet Jordan knew, _knew _he was anything but. He was a criminal, she told herself. He murdered his father.

And maybe mine… 

The thought came unbidden into her head, and she tried to dismiss it. She had seen the look in his eyes, at the Old Wharves, and just before he had thrown himself off the buildings. They were not the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

_They were her eyes._

She let out a shaky breath and sank back against the seat. This was too much, too much! Last time they had met, he had been feverish, at best. Barely lucid, he had thrown himself off a building into the Charles. She had believed him dead, hadn't even carried a glimmer of hope that he could possibly be alive. Now he was here, and her father wasn't. For the first time, she knew exactly how James had felt most of his life. Alone.

The door opened and James' head snapped up. The policewoman who walked in was looking decidedly confused.

"Before we start," she said, sitting down, noting the glance that passed between the two people sitting opposite her. "Would you kindly tell us who you are?"

Jordan narrowed her eyes, waiting for James to answer.

"Adam Macklin," he said, leaning forward and plastering an expression of honesty on his face. Jordan was mildly amused – he seemed to share many qualities with her.

"This is my associate, Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh."

_A good lie is always 3 quarters truth, _she thought, but was still uneasy.

"With the Massachusetts state medical examiners office," Jordan said, showing them her badge, surprised she still had it on her after all the mess she had dragged it through lately. The officer raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Someone was looking for you," she said, looking back to Jordan's face. "A detective from Boston."

"So you arrested us?"

The woman frowned slightly. "We got a tip that there was a drug operation running out of your home, Mr. Macklin," she said, nodding her head slightly at James. "Of course that has been cleared up."

Jordan's mind was working fast. Either Woody was getting more subtle, which she doubted, this was a genuine mistake, which she also doubted, or that something far more sinister was at work.

"Just a question, though. You, Dr. Cavanaugh, were carrying a gun."

Jordan opened her mouth to protest, but the officer cut her off.

"I know it was registered," she said. "I was just curious as to why you had it, seemingly stuffed so hastily in your pocket."

Jordan surveyed the woman. "I'm in a strange city, officer," she said, shrugging. "I see a hell of a lot of preventable deaths come through the morgue back in Boston…" she trailed off, and the officer nodded.

"Just one last question, for you, Doctor."

"Fire away," Jordan said, not too amiably, not too petulantly.

"Why is the Detective from Boston looking for you?"

"Beats me," she said, frowning slightly as if trying to think. "Was it…Detective Hoyt?"

"I'll go check," she said, walking out of the room.

"Thank god," James muttered. "I thought we were busted. Who is Detective Hoyt?"

"I believe you've had the pleasure," she said. "On the roof that night?"

"Ah," James said, averting his eyes. "That guy."

Jordan was spared answering by the officer who had come back in.

"The very same," she said. "You know him?"

"Yes, we're acquainted. I have no idea why he is looking for me. I'll call him when I get out of here," she hinted, whereby the officer stood.

"I'm sorry for the delays," she said, shaking first Jordan's, then James' hand. "You are free to go."

They walked out, both letting out barely concealed sighs of relief.

"Adam Macklin?" Jordan asked, glancing at her brother.

"He's dead," he said. They climbed into his car. Jordan sent him a reproving glance.

"Spare me the lecture, Jordan," he said irritably, starting up the car. "We're not going to Koreldy's tonight."

She ignored the last comment. "Spare you the lecture? How long did you think the poor boy act was going to last?" She paused, letting her words sink in. "Did you kill him?"

Even Jordan didn't know to whom she referred.

"I didn't kill anybody," he told her grimly.

Jordan sighed. "How can you expect me to just…" she stopped. "I have no idea what I am doing here. I should be back in Boston."

"Yeah," he said. "Maybe you should. But you're here, with me. I guess that's how it's going to stay, huh?" It was almost a threat. She was silent, watching the scenery fly by. "What do you want me to say, Jordan?" he asked, seemingly genuinely.

"I don't know," she said. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

They were silent.

"You said you didn't kill anybody," Jordan started after a while. "What about Tom Malden? Your father?"

"He wasn't my father," James said mildly. "He was just the guy who…impregnated my mother."

"Who is your father then, James?" Jordan asked. James frowned.

"I guess I don't have one," he said, as if only just realising it.

"Weren't they even the slightest bit loving towards you? Doris and Samuel?"

James didn't answer. They pulled up outside his house.

_His, or Macklin's? _Jordan wondered idly.

"The bedroom's that way," he said, pointing down the corridor.

"I'm fine for the couch," she said a little stiffly.

"Oh no, I insist," he said sarcastically. She sighed and followed his hand. He watched her go, and, suddenly angry, kicked the lounge in front of him with force, eyes blurry.

_Damn you, Koreldy. You're not going to escape us this time._

* * *

**A/N Cont. Soo! If their arrest wasn't a coincidence…who reported them? Who would have most to gain by their incarceration that night? Perhaps the man they are both after with guns? Just a thought…ok so review people! It makes life worth living:D :D :D**


	6. I'll Be Watching

**A/N: Ok heres chapter 6! Thanks everyone for reviewing! It so fun to read them! Ok well not much to say here...so read on!**

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Garret woke with a start, to the distant sound of a cell-phone ringing. Knowing he had turned his off last night, he reasoned it must be Woody's. The cell stopped ringing and he heard a voice.

Groggily, he put a hand to his head, and sat up in the bed, eyes growing accustomed to the near-blinding light coming through his window. The numb thought that he should buy a blind for the damn thing wandered into his mind.

It can't be said that the events of the past few days returned to him, for they had never left. He knew exactly what was going on and what had happened, as soon as his eyes had opened, maybe even before. And, like always, he turned it over and over in his mind, stewing on it, wishing he could bounce some of his erratic thoughts off someone.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, the icy coldness that accompanied early morning hitting him. He staggered out the door of his bedroom; a splitting headache reminding him of the alcohol he and the detective had consumed last night, and was glad he had not let the young man drive home. It occurred to Garret that he could have gotten a taxi, and wondered idly why one of them had not thought of that last night.

"Morning, Doc," Woody said, and Garret was glad to see that his friend looked as bad as he himself felt. "Fancy a trip to New York?"

Garret was suddenly wide awake. "Jordan?"

"She and another man were arrested last night."

Garret groaned, _what had she done this time? _"What for?" he asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"In relation to some drug offence they were accused of. But that doesn't concern me. Does the name 'Adam Macklin' mean anything to you?"

Garret shook his head. "No. Should it?"

"I'm not sure," Woody said, standing. "He's the man she was arrested with."

Garret walked into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. "Lets try and work through this," he said, turning to the cupboard and retrieving two mugs, one black and one blue.

"Her father is killed. What does she do? Go to New York? It doesn't fit," Woody started, warming to the task.

"Who did she need to see there?"

"Something to do with her father's death."

Garret thought for a minute, and spooned two heaps of instant coffee each into the mugs. "She could have met someone there."

"Where?" Woody asked, not catching on immediately.

"At the old wharves," Garret said, frowning in concentration. "The killer?"

"Koreldy?"

"Maybe."

"It would make sense," Woody said. "Except…he just killed her father. Why wouldn't he kill her?"

"He didn't have a gripe with her?" Garret suggested.

"If she saw him…that would be sufficient gripe, I think," Woody argued.

"How would she have seen him? Aren't we assuming he called her after he murdered him?"

Woody stared. "How did he know that she worked in the morgue?"

"He has been watching her. Them."

Woody shook his head. "This is just hearsay. We really don't have any idea what happened." He paused. "Nothing on the body?"

Garret inwardly winced. "No," he said stiffly. "Only a hair. It was hers." Garret studied the younger man's face as he processed this information, and watched him come to the same conclusion he had himself the night before.

"No," he said. "No way."

"Its what whoever they put on the case is going to think."

Woody knew he was right. "So what's the plan?"

"We should probably take a trip to the morgue," he said, uncertainly. "At the risk of running into Walcott."

"Great," Woody said. "Sounds like fun."

Ironically, when Woody walked into the morgue, it actually felt like one for once. He had never considered what it was before, not really. But he felt it in its entirety today, which made him feel somewhat uneasy. They strode down the corridor, as they had done so many countless times before, but it was different today. Lily saw them, gave them a sad smile, and continued on her way. Woody spotted Nigel sitting morosely at his desk, scribbling something incoherent on a thin piece of paper. Bug was nowhere to be seen.

"What exactly are you doing?" Woody asked of the Chief ME quietly. Garret looked towards his office.

"I'm going to call Walcott," he said. "And give up."

"Let her think you're giving up, you mean."

Garret didn't answer, and veered off into his office, leaving Woody standing around awkwardly. Luckily, Lily came to his rescue and pulled him into her office.

"How are you holding up?" Woody asked Lily as she closed the door.

Lily didn't answer, feeling it was a pretty pointless question. "Any word from Jordan?" she asked, concern in her eyes. Woody swallowed, not knowing how much to say.

"She's in New York," he said. Lily frowned.

"What is she doing there?" she asked, confused. Woody spread his hands wide.

"Your guess is probably better than mine," he confessed, sinking into her couch as she sat opposite, shaking her head in what he assumed was disbelief.

"Are you going to look for her?" she asked after a while. Woody surveyed her.

"Yes," he said. "I'm just waiting for Garret to finish up with Renee."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Sounds ominous," she said in a low voice. They were silent

"Is he still here?" Woody asked. Lily closed her eyes and nodded.

"I can't believe Garret did it," she said. "I could never…"

"And yet if you think about it, you can understand why he had to."

"Doesn't make it any better for him," she countered, and he wholeheartedly agreed.

"Just like that," Renee's voice came, taking a distinct tone of disbelief.

"Yep," Garret said indifferently. "Just like that."

"I'm not buying it."

"I can't win," Garret said mildly.

"No, you can't," she said uncertainly.

Garret didn't reply.

"We're sending in an ME," she said. "She's probably on her way now. Her name is Dr. Harding."

Garret was silent for a while. "Right," he said brusquely. "You know I have already done the autopsy?"

"She can do it again," Renee said neutrally. A tendril of anger snaked up Garret's throat and he said a rough goodbye before slamming the phone down on the receiver. There was a timid knock at the door and a small woman of about 35 stood there, eyes flickering between the man who was obviously fuming, to the phone that he had thrown back onto the receiver.

"Dr. Macy?" she asked, stepping into the office. Garret looked at her. She held out her hand. "Dr. Myra Harding."

"Dr. Harding," he said, taking her hand and shaking it, before letting it drop. "Welcome to our humble morgue." He breathed in, trying not to dislike the woman, who was obviously waiting for him to say something else. "Do you need to be shown around?" he asked, lamely. She smiled.

"If you've seen one morgue, Dr. Macy, you've pretty much seen them all. I'm sure I'll be fine. As to an office though…" she trailed off. Garret nodded.

"Through there," he said, pointing down the hall. She nodded.

"I look forward to working with you," she said. "I understand the circumstances surrounding this case, you may want to point out the daughter to me so I don't say anything tactless."

"No fear of that," he said. "She's not here, probably won't be for a while."

"Smart girl," Harding observed.

"She is," Garret agreed forcibly.

"Are you going to be assisting?"

Garret stared. "Don't you think once is enough?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"You've done an autopsy already?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"I have," he said stiffly. "Miss Walcott seems to think my professional judgement was clouded."

"I see," the doctor said, and she did, having had many far-from-pleasant meetings with the district attorney.

"How long are you here for?"

Harding frowned. "Miss Walcott wasn't very clear on that," she replied. "I understand you are understaffed?"

"We have just lost on of our ME's, so yes."

"Then maybe it isn't just for this case," she mused. "Who knows?" They were silent.

"Look," Garret started, after a few minutes of awkwardness.. "I have to be somewhere today."

Dr. Harding raised an eyebrow. "I see," she said again.

"Do you think you could hold the fort? The staff will be civil."

"I'm sure I'll manage," she said. "I'll see you later."

Garret nodded and turned away, leaving his office in search of Woody, who he found sitting in Lily's office. With a subtle jerk of his head, he beckoned the detective, who stood immediately.

"Got your affairs all sorted out?" Woody asked in a tone halfway between irritation and sarcasm. Garret snorted softly and they piled into the elevator.

"Take two," Jordan said dryly. They had waited out the day, sitting in James' house, talking about everything and nothing, and were now preparing to jump into his car and check out the address Woody had given her, for the second time. James shot her a look, which conveyed neither irritation nor amusement, and planted himself into the car.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, hands on the wheel. He had not started the car. Jordan drew the seatbelt across her chest.

"No," she said. He nodded; apparently this was the answer he had been after. He started the car and they drove slowly down the road.

"Are you?" she asked when they had driven for a few minutes.

"No," he said, staring stonily ahead.

They continued on in silence, both becoming so lost in their thoughts they almost missed the turnoff.

"Is this the street?" James asked, looking at the sign. Jordan glanced down into her hand, where the piece of paper she had scribbled the address on sat. She nodded grimly, and he flicked the blinkers on and turned into the street.

All too quickly, they had pulled up in front of the house. It was not shabby, as Jordan had expected. On the contrary, it looked like a rather respectable place; the lawn was mowed, the balcony had a neat little table and chairs placed deliberately under a window, a little pot plant perched on the face of the table. James stared at it stonily, before parking on the other side of the road, and getting out of the car.

The sun had fallen, but the street-lamps were not yet lit, relying on the remaining rays of sunlight to illuminate the residents of this suburban neighbourhood. Jordan followed her brother, who had crossed the road. He did not stop, when he reached the fence, however, and kept going to the door.

"James!" Jordan hissed, running to catch him up. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, you just wanted a look at the house?" he said, nerves making him angry.

"Do we have a plan?" she asked.

"We both have guns," he replied. "I'd say that's the first glimmerings of one."

Jordan frowned. "James…" she warned.

"Look, we're just finding out if this is the guy!"

"And how do you propose we do that?" she asked, finally questioning their method.

"I don't know, ask him?" He stopped the banter, and walked boldly up to the door, knocking. Jordan stood with him, waiting apprehensively. The door opened, and a man stood there, eyeing them.

"Jack Koreldy?" James asked in a strange voice.

"Yeah, who wants to know?"

"The New York PD," he said, flashing a badge. Jordan nearly fell over, before collecting herself and showing her own badge, which she knew could be easily mistaken for a police badge. Koreldy's eyes narrowed.

"She's a Medical Examiner," he observed, and she nodded.

"Sure am," she said. "With the Massachusetts Medical Examiner's office."

Koreldy nodded, and his eyes flickered back to James.

"How can I help you, officer?" he asked, with a slight emphasis on the word officer. Panic rose in Jordan's throat as she realised she could potentially be looking in the face of her father's killer. As if sensing her gaze, he returned it coolly, eyes communicating something she did not recognise.

"Perhaps," James said and Jordan was amazed at the different personas he could just shift to, not recognising it was on of her own defining traits. "We're here in relation to a murder that happened in Boston two nights ago."

"I haven't been to Boston in years," he said mildly. "Why do you think it was me?"

"Witness described someone who could potentially be you."

"Hmm," Koreldy said, as if he was deep in thought. "Don't know how that could happen."

"I'm sure its just a misunderstanding," James said. "However you know this person."

"I do?" he asked idly.

"Max Cavanaugh," James said.

Koreldy frowned as if in concentration. "Cavanaugh's a pretty common name," he said. "I really don't recall…"

"He is the detective who was solely responsible for the case against you in September 1979."

Koreldy's eyes narrowed. "Ah. That one. The one who tried to frame me for murder."

"Whose murder?" James asked.

"I don't even know. Some guy I had never even met. So he's dead, huh?"

"Yeah, he's dead," Jordan broke in harshly.

"Well I'm not really sorry to hear it," he said blankly. "But I had nothing to do with it."

James swallowed hard. _What were they doing? _"We'll be watching you, Koreldy," he almost growled, before turning on his heel and striding back down the path. Koreldy watched, a glint in his eye, as a surprised look crossed Jordan's face, and she followed him away.

"Likewise," he said brightly, and closed the door.


	7. Now We Wait

**A/N: Chapter 7! Thanks for reveiwing...don't stop now:D Ok well only about 1 or two chapters to go...and I still have no real idea what's going to happen...it just happens as it happens...**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Now We Wait**

"What now?" Jordan hissed, chasing after her brother, disappointment growing in her gut.

"We wait," he said, trying to keep his temper in check, and kept striding towards the car.

"Damn it, James, stop!" she grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her, starting at the expression on his face.

"What?" he said savagely.

"Was it him? Did he do it?"

James stared at her. "I don't know," he said, and yanked his arm free from her grasp, turned away and continued to walk.

"What are we waiting for?" she asked in an exasperated tone. He stopped and turned, face eerily illuminated by the street-lamps that had just been turned on, and she was suddenly thrust back to the night her father was killed.

"We could do CPR," Her own voice returned to her and reverberated around her skull.

_I said that?_ she asked herself, disturbed. She really couldn't remember much of what had happened that night; it was all a haze. A haze she welcomed warmly.

"Him to slip up," he said.

"James!" the protested, but he shook his head dismissively and climbed into the car, listening as she let out an angry sigh and followed suit.

From the window, Jack Koreldy grinned. "They'll be back," he said with certainty, before letting the curtain fall.

"I've got a bad feeling about this, Doc," Woody said again, concern evident in his voice. They had just arrived in the city of New York and were navigating the streets in search of the residence of Adam Macklin.

"So you've said, what, five times now?" Garret said, irritated, as he peered through the windscreen at the sign above their heads.

"That's the one!" Woody said excitedly, and Garret turned the car.

"Number 156," he murmured. "Your side."

Woody squinted as he stared out of the window. "124," he reported. "Keep going. Ok here we are. 148, 150, 152, 154…that one! 156!"

Garret halted the car and they jumped out, closing the doors quietly behind them. They walked straight up to the door, and Woody knocked loudly.

"Adam Macklin?" he called. "Police, open up!"

There was no answer.

"Open the door now!"

Silence.

Woody glanced at Garret, who nodded slightly. Drawing back his leg, he sent it into the door with force, breaking the old lock effectively. He rushed into the house, closely followed by Garret.

"There's no one here," he said after methodically checking the entire house. Garret was standing in the kitchen.

"What now?" he asked his friend, who had joined him.

Woody opened his mouth to say something to the effect of 'I have no idea,' when he spotted something. Bending over, he picked it up, and wordlessly showed it to Garret.

"That's her bag," he said in a low voice. Woody nodded and opened it.

"Cell, wallet, keys," he said. "So where in the hell is she?"

"Gun's not there," Garret observed, and a range of possibilities rushed through their minds, and were conveyed in their eyes as they stared blandly at one another.

"We've got company," James said as they rounded the corner.

"That's Garret's car," Jordan said, immediately recognising the vehicle.

"Whose?" James asked, glancing at her.

"My boss," she explained, distracted, wondering how they could have found her.

"Your boss?" James asked, mildly interested. "What's he doing here?"

"Beats me," Jordan said through gritted teeth, trying to recall if she had left any trace of herself in there. "My damn bag," she muttered, but was stopped when a figure appeared at the door. "Its Woody," she told James, staring at her friend, who was looking out the door as if he had heard something. Shaking his head slightly, he walked back inside, closing the door behind him.

"Your ah…detective friend?" James said, as if trying to remember. Jordan nodded briefly.

"They'll recognise you if we go in there," she said. "We don't want that."

James figured that this did not require an answer.

"How about I go in there and bluff? Adam Macklin can be an old friend of the family."

"Bad idea," James said immediately.

"Why?" she queried, intent on her plan now that it had latched onto her mind.

"Why do you think?" he asked. She waited. "Ah screw it," he said vehemently. "Go on then."

"Thanks for the permission slip, should I get a note from home?" she said sarcastically, getting out of the car, and walking up the street to the house.

"Thanks for the ride," she called, loudly, at an imaginary car. She could have smiled at the almost frantic look on the detective's face as he scrambled up from the kitchen to open the door. She fixed a surprised look on her face.

"Woody!" she said, and turned her voice hard. "What are you doing here?"

Barely able to contain his relief at her obvious health, he said, "I was about to ask you that very thing."

"Great minds, huh?" Jordan said, diverting. "I thought that car was Garret's. What'd you do, steal it?"

"No," came a voice from behind Woody, and this time Jordan was genuinely surprised.

"Garret. Long time no see," she said weakly, and pushed past them into the house, trying to look like she knew the place." The men exchanged glances over her head, and Woody closed the door grimly.

"What are you doing here, and who is Adam Macklin?"

"For once, Woodrow, you are the one doing the wrong thing. I have broken no laws, crossed no lines, yet here you stand, demanding to know why, what, where. I have a newsflash for you; it's none of your business." Her words were designed to hurt, and hurt they did.

"What did you expect me to do?" he asked, exasperated. "You disappear. I hear some guy talking to me, telling me you're in his shower. What did you expect?"

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine. So why don't you get back into your car, and drive back to Boston, huh? Do us all a favour."

"Do us a favour, do _us _a favour?" Woody spluttered, obviously at a loss for words of his own. Garret watched, and had the circumstances been any different, he would have been highly amused at the antics of these two. They reminded him forcefully of an old married couple.

"Go home, Woody," she said cruelly, turning away. Woody frowned and was about to say something, but Garret shook his head.

"Come home soon," he said softly, and watched her shoulders slump. Then he turned and left the house, hoping Woody would follow.

"Don't be a stranger, Jordan," he said, and she found she could not look at him as he followed the Chief ME.

"That's it?" Woody asked Garret. "We just leave?"

"Of course not," he said. "She's hiding something."

"No! You think?" Woody said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "So what do we do?"

"We wait," Garret said, with the air of experience about him. Woody snorted, a trait that was becoming quite common, and shook his head, acquiescing.

Jordan watched the car drive off, and breathed a sigh of relief. She waited 10 minutes to make sure they had gone, and ran back down to the car, expecting James to have already driven back. But the car was deserted. A shiver ran down her spine.

"James?" she called, opening the car door. "James!"

The silence was deafening. Jordan frowned, not able to contemplate where he could possibly be. Then she saw the note on the dashboard.

_Come back, _it read, in scrawling handwriting. There was no doubt in her mind about who had left the note. She ran back to the house, retrieving her cell phone before running back to the car, jumping in and retracing their steps, without so much as a thought for her own safety.

"Where's she going?" Woody hissed, in the car a few houses down, gesturing urgently to Garret to start the vehicle.

"Hang on…nope. Psychic powers aren't working today," the ME growled. Woody sat forward in his seat, squinting ahead to spot the lights in front.

"Where are we?" Garret said. Woody was staring at the street sign above their heads.

"She's going to Koreldy's," he replied grimly. Garret let out a frustrated breath and screeched to a halt a few houses away from Jordan's car.

"Wait," Garret said, holding a restraining hand towards the young detective as he prepared to jump clean out of the car. Woody grunted and fell back against the seat, annoyed. "Watch."

"I'm watching," Woody said impatiently. "She's knocking."

She was. She had sprinted up the driveway and was now bashing on the door. It opened, and a man looked out.

"Dr. Cavanaugh," he said. "How can I help you?"

Jordan didn't remember that she hadn't given him her name.

"Where is he?" she demanded. His eyes trailed over here blood-shot eyes, filled with something that was a mix of fright and fiery anger, and her chest, rising and falling with the erratic, shallow breaths she was taking,

"Who?" he asked, after an exquisitely timed pause that was designed to make her completely sure that he knew exactly who she was talking about.

"James," she said.

"I'm sure I don't know who you're talking about," he said in a tone that completely belied his words.

"Where is he?" she repeated harshly. He frowned.

"Manners, Dr. Cavanaugh."

Something shifted in her brain. _He's not supposed to know who I am! _The thought hit her with force, and she stared back at him, eyes wide. He grinned when he read the recognition in her eyes.

"I'm glad we're finally on the same wavelength," he said mildly, and moved his hand. Jordan glanced down and spotted the gun. "Now how about you come in?"

"Like hell," she scoffed.

Koreldy thought. "Hell," he mused. "Yes. That could be fun." She did not reply. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear," he said. "Come in, or you'll both die."

Jordan thought quickly. Gesturing wildly behind her back with her hand, she walked slowly inside, hoping and praying that Woody had not taken her seriously, as much as she had wanted them too at the time.

--------

"What's she doing?" Woody hissed. Garret was sitting forward, a crease in his brow.

"I don't know," he said. "Just wait."

"We seem to be doing a hell of a lot of that, lately," he said.

"Cool it, detective. We don't even know if she's walking into danger."

But the words fell on closed ears. Woody had convinced himself that if he did not intervene, something terrible would happen, but knew that to try and argue the point with the ME would be futile. He waited.

--------

"So you know us," she said, desperately trying to make conversation.

He just smiled an infuriatingly knowing smile and kept walking. He thrust her into a room, and it took her eyes a while to adjust to the dim before she saw James. He was sitting on the floor, head in hands.

His head snapped up at the sound of the door opening and let out a low moan when he saw Jordan.

"Damn you," he said weakly, and she noticed a trickle of blood slowly trail down his face.

"James!" she called out, and rushed to him, trying to determine if he was anything resembling alright. He did not seem to have any fatal or semi-fatal injuries, so she stood up, angrily indignant.

"So you killed them," she said in a low voice. Koreldy frowned.

"Who?" he asked innocently. James lifted his head and shook it at Jordan.

_Damn, it was so pointless! _What would they do now? She figured it was a situation of kill or be killed. And she found she didn't give a damn either way. She sunk down onto the ground next to her brother and sat numbly.

"Jordan?" he asked. He had half-hoped that she would march in and save them both, like she imagined she had done many times before. But she was gone, something in her had either snapped or left. Her eyes suddenly looked dull, her head hung demurely. Koreldy looked on, amused.

"So," he said. "What do we do now? I presume you want to kill me and I know I want to kill you two…" he trailed off, shrugging.

"Why don't we go the whole hog then, and totally imitate a movie? How about we talk about the whys and wherefores? Then one of us can go down in a blaze of glory and the rest of us can get on with our damn lives, or what's left of them. Just decide quickly." Jordan's voice was muffled, but both men heard her clearly enough, and were mildly surprised. And, both agreed.

"It is rather cliché, isn't it?" Koreldy mused. "Ah well. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

"Indeed," Jordan agreed. "So let's get started on the cheesy explanation shall we?" she said, adopting an apathetic stance, when really she was burning for information. "Who did you kill, why, when, etcetera, you know the drill."

Koreldy hated to admit it, but he was starting to like this woman. She thought like him.

"Ok," he said indulgently. "Why not?"

James was watching this exchange with interest. _What was she playing at?_

"I killed that guy you two asked me about earlier."

"My father."

"Uh huh," Koreldy said brightly, pleased that she had come to that conclusion so quickly. "He had it coming, though."

Jordan's jaw shifted but she held her savage reply in. "How so?" she managed to force out in an attempt at civility.

"He tried to frame me."

"So you killed him," she said, not able to stay quiet again.

"Uh, yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what I just said."

"That's it?" James said. "Now that wasn't really a very good movie."

"No, I wasn't entertained," Koreldy agreed.

"How about her?" James said after a pause, asking the question they both wanted answered more than anything.

"Her?" came the predictable answer.

"Emily Cavanaugh," he growled back. "Did you kill her as well?"

Koreldy frowned, seemingly genuinely. "Is that what Max told you?" he asked derisively. They did not answer. Koreldy snorted.

"You're pathetic," he told them scathingly. "Now you can die pathetically."

"Hang on a minute," Jordan piped up. "We haven't played this movie enough. You have to explain to us why we are to die. Oh and you may want to give us your life story, they do that a lot in the films."

Koreldy burst into laughter. "You're killing me," he said. "Ok, if you want to do it properly. But how about we skip the life story, huh?"

"Fine," James said, on edge. "So he tried to frame you nearly 25 years ago. You go to jail, get let out about 8 years ago, and decide to kill him now? Why?"

Koreldy frowned. "A fair question," he mused. "He was hard to get to. Plus, you were my first target," he said, nodding his head at Jordan. "I thought it would be worse for him to see you die." He paused, and then added as an afterthought, gesturing towards James, "You would have done, as well. But I didn't know of your existence. Funny that." He chuckled. Jordan leant her head against the wall.

"Good idea," Koreldy said, and he lowered himself to the carpeted floor as well. "Now we're equal."

His words shifted something in Jordan's mind, and she felt the gun at her own hip. _Just a little longer…_

"You wanted to punish him," Jordan clarified. "Why didn't you? Why didn't you kill me?"

"You were a tad hard to get at. Don't suppose you wondered how the most dangerous cases were attracted to your desk?" he asked, amused. Jordan frowned. _Liar! _He was blowing his own trumpet, it wasn't true…how could it be? Koreldy laughed, reading the accusation in her eyes.

"Oh yes," he assured her. "My manipulations go further than even you could possibly imagine. You with your multitude of conspiracy theories, and you never even considered…then again you always were more concerned for others than yourself. Silly philosophy if you ask me."

Jordan went cold. He was telling the truth…but how? It escaped her, how he could possibly know her so well, how he could have been close enough to her to slide her 'dangerous' cases…he must have worked there, at the morgue. There was no other explanation. James had closed his eyes, and Jordan shot him a glance, seeing he had a bruise just under the hairline. _Concussion, probably_, her medical mind kicked in immediately.

"How could you have possibly…" she trailed off, letting a fair amount of awe enter her voice. Maybe she could provoke him into telling her more if she appealed to his less modest side. Providing he had one, of course.

-------

"Dr. Myra Harding," the woman said, thrusting her hand towards Bug. "I understand you are among the senior Medical Examiners still here?"

Nigel couldn't stop himself. "Which says a lot because the others _aren't_ here," he said, chuckling. Bug sent him a filthy look, which was accompanied by a reproving one from Lily. Harding took no notice of them.

"Yes," Bug said uncertainly, taking her hand.

"I've been called in to perform the autopsy on a…" She paused, consulting her clipboard. "Max Cavanaugh?"

Bug nodded. "I assumed so," he said. "He has already been autopsied, though, did you know?"

Harding gave him an unreadable look. "I'm sure Dr. Macy's findings were not tarnished in any way by his relationship with the man. The DA, however, has asked me to look over it, so I am. This is in no way anything personal."

"Heaven forbid," Nigel said sullenly to the side. Harding shot him a look.

"Dr. Townsend?" she said, squinting at his badge. "If you have anything to say maybe you should get it out before we start. That way there is no resentment."

"Resentment?" he said. "That's a strong word…"

"It isn't directed at you, Dr. Harding," Lily piped up, and Harding turned her strange gaze on her instead.

"District Attorney Walcott?" she chanced a guess. Bug and Nigel exchanged a glance, the woman was forthright.

Lily nodded. "I don't understand why Dr. Macy has to be second guessed. He would not let anything personal stand in the way of his findings."

"I understand," Harding said, genuinely. "However I have been told to do something…I'm doing it. You'd do well to do the same," she cautioned, before asking directions to autopsy one.

"If you two would like to accompany me…" she trailed off, looking from one to the other. They exchanged another surreptitious glance, and followed before she could change her mind.

"So he has done everything?" she confirmed on the way.

Bug nodded. "From what I understand," he replied.

"So we wont need to run screens again?"

"Unless you think they were tampered with," Nigel said sarcastically, whereupon Harding turned.

"I'm not the enemy here," she assured him in a perfunctory manner. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear. While Dr. Macy is absent, I am 'in charge', if you like, here. Which means," she continued, at Nigel's absent expression. "I get to boss you around."

"Lucky us," Nigel muttered under his breath. Bug sent him a strange look.

"Autopsy one, through there," Bug said, pointing. The three piled into the room, where Max's body had been laid, yet again. Nigel grimaced, the man would hate this, hate to be so undignified. Bug looked sadly at the big man, sapped of life, a neat 'Y' cut into his body, and neatly sutured by the Chief ME. Harding hesitated, before picking up a pair of scissors and severing the stitches, one by one.

"Negative to all toxins," Nigel reported, having found the original screen. "Nothing unusual in his system."

"Unusual?" Harding queried, focussed on the stitches.

"Blood alcohol level 0.06," Nigel replied.

"Not drunk, then," she said.

Nigel didn't think she required an answer.

"Ok," she said, having severed the last stitch. "Beginning internal examination."

_Thanks for the update, _Nigel almost said, but refrained. If she was here to stay, which would be the most prudent thing to do, on Dr. Macy's part, seeing as they were understaffed, he had better be nice. Against his better judgement. He had no idea why, but he didn't like her. Unbeknownst to him, this was a milder case of what Dr. Macy himself had felt, earlier that day, upon allowing the doctor into his morgue.

Nigel tried not to look to hard at Max's face, not wanting to be able to see him talking and moving. He found himself immensely glad that Jordan was not there, she was safe, for the time being, from this whole thing. Or so he thought.


	8. Flights of Freedom

**A/N: Thankyou Hat-Trick, Lioness-Rampant, eternalgorithm and Orlando-crazy for reviewing Ch7! Heres the next installment...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters...oh except Dr. Myra Harding! She's mine! Ooh and that lazy detective who couldn't be bothered coming down to the morgue...oh and above all Jack Koreldy! He's mine too! Hehe but apart from that...**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Flights of Freedom**

"32 calibre," Nigel reported, glancing at Bug, who was leaning from the bench over the other side of the room. He had effectively divorced himself from the whole investigation; he really wanted no part of it.

"Common," Harding observed. "No way to identify it?"

Nigel shook his head. "Not a chance. Maybe if we had suspects, we could match it against any guns they may have. As it is, we're completely in the dark."

"Speaking of which, the detective this case was reassigned to should be here by now. I'll go ring the precinct. Try not to touch anything."

"I'll do my very best," Nigel assured her with a little sarcasm. She left without another word.

Nigel looked to Bug. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I think you should stop being so disrespectful."

"Disrespectful?" Nigel said incredulously. "Second-guessing Dr. M is disrespectful. Putting Max through _that _for the second time is disrespectful." He gestured furiously at the steel table. Bug couldn't help agreeing but still felt it would be prudent not to piss off this ME too soon. He sighed.

"Just tone it down a little. She's only doing it under Walcott's instruction.

As if on cue, the DA herself barged into the room. Nigel stared at her, and Bug straightened up. Dr. Harding entered the room, looking flustered.

"Where is he?" the DA demanded.

Nigel shot Dr. Harding a glance, and she shrugged. "Who?" he asked simply.

"Macy," she replied, exasperated. "He is not here."

"How very observant of you," Nigel said. He was in a disagreeable mood already, and this intrusion only fuelled it.

Renee's face hardened. "Where is he?" she repeated.

"Taking some personal leave, I believe."

"Oh what a coincidence," she said sardonically. "At the same time as dear Detective Hoyt?"

Nigel adopted a puzzled expression. "I really have no idea where they are," he said.

Renee looked triumphant. "They're somewhere together?"

"I would assume so," he said mildly.

"Where?" she asked, clearly incensed.

"How should I know?" Nigel said with the air of one who had been greatly wronged. "Why don't you call him?" Renee stared at him furiously, cursed and left the room. Bug stared after her.

"What was that all about?" he wondered. Harding gave them both hard looks.

"I hope you don't know where they are," she told them, looking for any sign of guilt.

"I know what they're doing," he said. "And it isn't anything that should concern you."

Harding shook her head and continued with the examination.

"Did you get onto the detective?" Bug asked.

Harding looked up. "He doesn't want to get too involved. I'm to send to report over when I'm done." There was a look of distaste on her face. Nigel noted it and was softened somewhat.

"Where's the trace evidence?" she asked suddenly.

"I'll go get it," he said. He came back in a matter of minutes with a transparent bag. Harding opened it, and pulled three smaller bags out. Disregarding the two that had dirt and other environmental traces, she focussed on the third one.

"Hair," she said, and consulted the clipboard. "Dr. Macy has it down as Dr. Cavanaugh's."

Nigel started and looked at the board over her shoulder. It indeed identified that hair as Jordan's.

"I better run it again," he said anxiously. Harding did not argue. Nigel came back, nodding his head.

"Its hers," he said. Harding looked at him suspiciously.

"You'd better tell me what happened. I'm completely in the dark here."

Nigel glanced at Bug who nodded his encouragement.

"Jordan…ah, I mean Dr. Cavanaugh, got an anonymous tip," he said, and waited.

"Convenient," Harding said dryly. "And?"

"She followed it up. Went to the Old Wharves, where she found her father."

"And?" Harding probed. "Who arrived next?"

"Dr. Macy and Detective Hoyt."

Harding paused. "Alright. Lets leave the world of fact and delve into the more personal side of this saga that you have just related," she said scathingly. "Who is Detective Hoyt and how was he informed of the body at the wharves?"

There was no doubt, not much escaped this savvy doctor, and Nigel realised he should stop beating around the bush.

"Detective Hoyt is a friend of ours."

"A friend of who's exactly…?"

"Ours," he repeated, gesturing to Bug and himself. "Garret, Jordan and Lily as well."

"Is that all? I want all the details here, or I wont be able to help you."

"That's all," Nigel said firmly. He did not want to divulge his suspicions about the relationship between Woody and the wayward ME they were discussing, as he did not feel it was relevant, nor appropriate.

"And Dr. Macy? I understand from the casual use of his first name it's not the normal boss/employee relationship with you lot?"

"No," Nigel acquiesced. "We're all friends here," he said, almost sarcastically.

"How friendly?" she probed. Nigel flared up.

"Why does it matter?"

"I'm just wondering!" she said defensively. "So how did they come to find the body?"

Nigel thought back. Lily had informed him of the turn of events just before Max's body came in, and he found he could relate it with ease.

"I see," she said when he had finished. "So it was a coincidence that Detective Hoyt was there…"

"Pretty much. Like I said, Dr. M went along when they discovered Jordan was already there, fearing the worst."

"As you do," Harding remarked. "So where does this leave us?"

"Where it did last night," Bug said. "We have nothing."

Harding frowned. "And the hair is what, transparent? Dr. Cavanaugh's hair is on the body!"

Bug was alarmed. It had only just occurred to him that Jordan could be a suspect. He glanced at Nigel; seemed it was the same for him.

"No," Nigel said. "You can't think…"

"She's a suspect now, guys," Harding said reluctantly. "Its her…"

"Hair, we know!" Nigel exploded. "There is no way in hell that she could ever…" he trailed off.

Dr. Harding eyed him curiously. "What makes you say that?"

Nigel's face darkened and he did not reply. His dislike for the upfront doctor intensified tenfold.

"Look, I don't want to believe that his own daughter murdered him, but the evidence…"

"The evidence?" Bug said. Nigel turned. "A hair? She was there! You think she didn't try to revive him, check if he was alive? It doesn't mean she killed him!"

Harding adopted an amused expression that only caused to infuriate the two doctors more.

"How about I ring the detective?" she said in an attempt to placate them, and walked out, two irate stares boring into her retreating back.

--------

"I had my ways," Koreldy answered dramatically. Jordan sent another glance towards James; his eyes were still obstinately closed.

"You never answered our question properly," Jordan said.

"I thought that was clear," he was clearly disgruntled. He was finding it was considerably more difficult to admit to _not _murdering someone than it was to confess that he had. Jordan glared at him.

"Not to me," she assured him.

"I didn't kill your stupid mother!" he said. "Probably should have, though!"

"Well who did?" she said, heart sinking into her stomach.

"How should I know?" he said blandly. "I didn't even know he was married!"

Jordan frowned at the inconsistency. "And yet you know all about me…"

He could have rolled his eyes. "I didn't give a damn before I went to jail," he said. "But I had time to think it over. A long time."

"I'm sure you did," she said, but her fire was rapidly dissipated. She suddenly realised how ridiculous this entire situation was. The three of them, sitting on the floor, discussing calmly who murdered who and why. She let out a harsh laugh, which served only to wake James. He straightened, looked around groggily and remembered where they were.

"Welcome back," Koreldy said dryly. James cleared his throat.

"It seems we have come to a wall," Jordan observed calmly. "What do we do now?"

"Well if we're all done with our sob-stories, I believe we can get on with the killing-revenge-y part."

"Mm good idea," Jordan agreed, and Koreldy hesitated. It was enough for Jordan – she grappled with her gun and had it pointed at Koreldy within five seconds. He stared at it, surprise mingled with irritation crossing his face. He threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"This just keeps getting better!" he said. James gingerly got to his feet and leant against the wall. For the first time he stared around the room. It was completely bare, except for a picture on the far wall. James stared at it for a moment, sure his eyes were deceiving him. It was, undeniably, a blank, grey wall.

"You should probably put the gun down," she said, looking to the offending object in loosely grasped in his hand. As if only just remembering it, he looked at it, and then raised it.

"One gun per side," he said. "Stalemate!"

_Not quite, _Jordan said, disturbed. She had two people to protect; he only had himself. He had the upper hand, and he knew it.

"That's it," Woody said, undoing his seatbelt and staring ahead doggedly. "I can't stand this."

Garret wholeheartedly agreed; he had just been waiting for Woody to say something. He grunted in reply and closed the car door behind him quietly. They crept towards the house, slowly, deliberately.

"Glad we're done waiting," Woody growled.

Without warning, Koreldy jerked the gun to the left and fired. Jordan jumped, and her head whipped around. James had thrown himself to the floor to escape the bullet, however, it had grazed his shoulder. She fired twice, blindly, and heard a shriek, followed by a thump.

The door crashed open, and Woody stood there, gun raised. Jordan met his eyes and the question in them was almost unbearable. Her eyes cleared and she saw Koreldy, lying on the ground. She bent down, and Woody kept the gun on her. Garret watched, horrified.

"He's alive," she said in a low voice, standing up. Garret dashed forward.

"Call an ambulance," he said unnecessarily. Woody ignored him; he was staring at Jordan. There was a sound from behind, and all three turned. Jordan winced as the recognition dawned on the detective's face.

"Your brother," he said to Jordan. "Adam Macklin?"

"Very good," she said disdainfully, and dropped again to her knees beside her brother.

"What now?" she whispered.

"Why are you asking me?" he said through gritted teeth. "Can't you guess? Koreldy dies, you are arrested for his murder because the only witness is a wanted felon!" His voice had risen slightly. Woody glared at him, a glare that James returned in kind.

Garret's voice was muffled to Jordan, as he dialled a number and called for an ambulance.

"Please," she said to Woody, not even knowing what she was pleading for. He frowned.

"What?" he said in a small voice. "What do you want?"

She shook her head. "You ok?" she had turned back to her brother.

"I'll live," he said, and fought to get to his feet. Jordan pulled him up by his good arm.

"Maybe if I grab that gun and take you hostage?" he said under his breath so only Jordan could hear.

"Not advisable," she hissed back. Garret had stood.

"Glad we found you," he said, an attempt at a normal voice.

Jordan glared at him. She was about to lose the last remaining member of her family, and pointlessly! He hadn't meant to kill his father, she was sure of it. And now they would all suffer. And for what? Jordan couldn't quite out her finger on it. Her mother's infidelity? It was easy to blame her, but it hadn't been that. Her father, giving James up in the first place? Maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe…ah! She inwardly cursed herself. These maybes would send her crazy. Probably already had.

"What exactly is the situation here?" she asked loudly.

"We have a critically injured man," Garret said mildly.

"Gee thanks," Jordan couldn't help saying. Woody shot her a look, and finally lowered his gun. He stepped back to talk with Garret.

James caught her eyes. His were filled with pain.

"He didn't kill her," he said in a low voice. Jordan blinked.

"It doesn't fit," she agreed, more calm at this revelation than she thought she should be. "Hey there's always next week," she joked weakly. James glanced to the gun in her hand.

"Damn," he murmured, and stepped forward, putting his arms around her. She leant into him and squeezed back, but did not let go of the feeling that was still, even now, accumulating within her. Suddenly, James snatched the gun from her hand and pulled away. Jordan stared at him, question in her eyes. Woody had noted the movement.

"Drop it," he cautioned, still disturbed at the scene he had just witnessed between them. James stared at the ceiling, then slowly, deliberately, placed the gun at Jordan's head. She closed her eyes.

"James," she said quietly so only he could hear. "I hope you know what you're doing."

He answered her with what could only be interpreted as a smile.

"Drop it!" Woody shouted.

"Don't be stupid," James said in a drawling voice, the one he put on with such ease. James pushed Jordan gently towards the door, and she complied. They walked slowly, towards the door. Jordan met Woody's eyes, and he frowned suspiciously at her.

"Don't come closer…" James said, brow furrowed in concentration. He had reached the door. With an almost undetectable pat, and the tiniest of 'goodbyes', he shoved her into Woody's arms and ran out of the room. Jordan put her own force into the push, succeeding in toppling the detective over. He pushed her roughly off him and scrambled to his feet, chasing after her brother.

"He's gone," Garret said from the floor. Jordan nodded automatically, picked herself up off the floor and walked slowly out of the room, not caring to look back.

--------

"That's what I said," Dr. Harding was saying to a hard-faced man, who had accompanied her to the morgue. "They refuse to consider it."

"Its definitely her hair?" the detective asked. Harding nodded.

"No question," she said.

"And has anyone thought of bringing her in for questioning?" the man asked sardonically.

"What an idea," Harding said, thoroughly fed up with this man's manner. "Not hard to see how you made detective."

The man glanced at her, eyebrow raised.

"Look," she started. "If these people say she would not kill her father, I am inclined to believe them. Why would they lie?"

The detective rolled his eyes, not bothering to dignify the question with an answer.

Nigel pushed the door open; ignoring the dirty stare the detective was sending him. His eyes were for Dr. Harding.

"You said TOD was around 2:30pm the day of the murder?" he said. She nodded in confirmation.

"That's what Dr. Macy had written down."

"Jordan would have been here," he said. "She has an alibi."

"Would have been?" the detective queried. "You don't know?"

Nigel shifted uncomfortably. "I wasn't exactly making a note of when every member of the morgue staff was here," he said, glancing from Harding to the detective.

"Then why are you here?"

Nigel summoned his best withering look. "To suggest we call either Garret or Woody and ask if she was with them."

Harding sighed. "Call them," she said, and Nigel gave her a curt nod before turning on his heel and leaving the room. Dr. Harding glanced at the detective.

"Happy?" she asked.

"Ecstatic," the detective assured her dryly.

--------

The night air was a welcome distraction, but one that did not last nearly as long as she would have liked. Her legs had taken her to back yard of Koreldy's place, the yard she imagined her brother had sprinted through during his rash flight for freedom. And the yard her friend had pursued him through.

Jordan could not get her head around it. She had barely begun to comprehend her father's death, let alone harbour any feelings of intense revenge for his killer. It was nothing like her mother. She had had 25 odd years to stew on it, and though she could not tell if the sense of revenge that was associated with the older murder dulled or grew stronger with time, she could differentiate between the two.

"Jordan?"

She turned slowly. She wasn't sure she could ever be surprised about anything ever again. The man who had called her name was again startled by the bland look of calm that had taken over her face.

"He got away."

A slight frown appeared on Jordan's face.

"Good," she said vehemently.

"He's a murderer," Woody said, stung. "Last time I checked you didn't condone murder."

"Last time I checked God doesn't condone murder," Jordan said with feeling. "Yet you and I still have jobs. How does that work?"

Woody closed his eyes and looked away.

"Yeah, we do have jobs," he said after a pause. "Maybe you should remember that."

"What if I don't want a job?" Jordan said mildly. "I'm not exactly in the mood for…" she stopped, the sudden image of her father stretched out on a cold autopsy table. She pressed her teeth together until it hurt. It was a distraction.

"What do you want me to say?" Woody asked, at a loss, his concern for the woman standing to damn stubbornly in front of him expressing itself in anger.

"Funny," she said icily. "I was about to ask the same thing."

Woody looked at her. "Fine," he said, throwing his hands up. "Fine. I have to go deal this whole damn mess."

Jordan fumed. "I didn't ask you to follow. I actually seem to remember expressly telling you not to."

Woody's eyes changed from heated anger to icy clarity. "I won't next time," he said coldly, turning.

"Finally got the message, did you?" she spat at his retreating back, not even slightly regretting her harsh words. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched another of her 'pillars' walk away, the conflicting emotions within her nigh on overbearing. One part of her wished to never see him again, the other wanted him to never leave her side.

Garret found her seated on the cool grass, legs tucked under her body neatly, head bowed slightly. He stood behind her somewhat uncertainly, before joining her on the ground.

"Hey," he said simply, in a low, rumbling voice. She didn't acknowledge him. "So he do it?"

"Yeah," she said after a silence. "Yeah he did."

"Ok, so he did it, what about _it_?"

Jordan's mouth twisted. "No," she said, confirming Garret's suspicion.

"Ok," he said, throwing the ball into her court. She watched it fly past her, not bothering to catch it or hit it back.

"I'm sorry this had to happen," Garret said after a while, quite inadequately.

"I'm sorry you two got involved," Jordan said, but with no venom.

"Don't be too hard on him," Garret said.

"Who says I'm being hard on him?" she said. "Its really not on the top of my 'to deal with' list at the moment."

"What is?"

Jordan lifted her head and looked at Garret. Not able to come up with a decent answer, she closed he eyes and shook her head.

"Are you coming home?"

Home. What was home? She wasn't even sure if she had a home anymore. A Boston without her father was most certainly _not _home.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully.

"Look," Garret said. "I hate to have to say this, but it has to be said. Renee has called in another ME and a detective to conduct the…investigation."

"Investigation over, Koreldy did it," she said blandly.

"I don't know that they'll see it that way," Garret said gently. "Your hair was found on the…on his body."

Jordan's throat constricted as the image of her father lying dead on the ground crashed its way into her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to leave her, willing herself to be strong.

But she lost the battle. Her shoulders slumped and started to shake, and her fists clenched together. Garret moved closer to her, put his arms around her and held her, safe, secure. It was only then that the grief that she had been forcing down ever since her father had been killed escaped her in a rush of tears, and she sobbed openly, hanging onto her old friend for dear life.


	9. Seeds of Doubt Pt 1

**A/N: Lioness-Rampant - About making Woody and Jordan reconcile and get together...I'm not sure. Maybe...but I'm pretty pissed at Woody at the moment...hehe maybe I wont be able to write any W/J pairing stuff until they've resolved the events of Jump Push Fall...haha. **

**Well we'll see what happens. I might tack in a cheesy last chapter. As the chapter title suggests...there is a lot of doubt flying around about whether or not she killed him...scary! Ah well it will all be resolved in the end...If I'm feeling nice...

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**Chapter 9: Seeds of Doubt #1**

There was a look on Jordan's face. It was a look none of them had really seen before, not in its entirety. Woody could have told them what it meant, but Woody was not there. He had been strangely absent ever since he, Garret and Jordan had returned to Boston in the early hours of the morning.

Nigel was in truth extremely surprised to see her back here. He hadn't expected to see her for at least a month, if history was anything to go by. He had expected her to be long gone. And from what he had heard Garret tell Lily when they caught a few minutes out of the earshot of the nosy Dr. Harding, she almost had been.

Jordan herself was aware of the looks that were being exchanged over her head, and intensely grateful that Garret had not joined in the mutterings and glances. She had steeled herself, and was now going to confront the entire mess head on, knowing from experience that if a necklace had a knot in it, to stuff it in your jewellery box and forget about it until you really needed it was not the way to go about it. And this was one hell of a knot. She had decided to tackle it, one link of the chain at a time. First link? Dr. Harding.

Jordan pushed open the door of the small-but-serviceable office that Dr. Harding had been given. The woman stood, surprised.

"Can I help you?"

Jordan stepped inside, and thrust her hand forward.

"Dr. Cavanaugh," she said, and could have laughed at the startled look on the ME's face. Harding stood abruptly.

"I didn't think you'd be coming in," she said uncertainly. Jordan shrugged.

"I work here," she said simply, daring the newcomer to challenge her. Harding merely shrugged.

"Myra Harding," she said pleasantly, taking Jordan's hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. I understand I need to be questioned?"

Harding frowned slightly. "That doesn't bother you?" she asked unexpectedly.

"Well, yes," Jordan confessed. "But it has to be done so I may as well just…" she trailed off, shrugging as if it was _not _the sole thing consuming her mind and attention. Harding surveyed her, and nodded.

"I'll call the detective," she said, and turned away to the phone, speaking in a low voice. Jordan waited, adopting a patient stance, which she was anything but.

"He's not busy at the moment," Harding said wryly, remembering the detective's unwillingness to come down to the morgue and follow up his case. "You can go down there…on second thoughts, I'll accompany you."

Jordan nodded and walked out, followed closely by Dr. Harding.

She had been on the receiving end of some police interviews in her time, but it never got any easier. It didn't help that she had seen thousands of these interviews from behind the glass mirror, had watched the police interrogate suspects and criminals alike, had wished them to stumble and make a mistake, not remembering how easy it was for an innocent person to be befuddled and confused by the whole process. She sat, shifting in the chair every now and then, waiting for the door to open.

Open it did, and in swaggered, for there was no other word for it, who she could only surmise was the detective on the case.

"Dr. Cavanaugh," he said, sitting in the chair opposite her. Jordan could not help her eyes flickering to where she knew Dr. Harding was standing.

"Yes," she replied.

"Detective Mathers." She could not fathom why he was extending this courtesy to her; she had never witnessed a detective exchange names with a suspect before. She nodded and waited for him to begin. He clicked the tape recorder on.

"This interview with Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh on the 6th of September 2005 is in regards to the murder of Mr. Max Cavanaugh on the 3rd of September. Lets start with the cliché shall we? Where were you in the afternoon of the 3rd of September?"

"I was at the morgue."

"Where you work."

"Yes."

"Can anyone confirm that?"

"Exactly what time did the…murder take place?" she asked, knowing that the detective could hear the pain in her voice.

"Around 2-2:30pm."

The blood drained from Jordan's face, and she looked around wildly.

"What is it, Dr. Cavanaugh?"

Behind the glass, Dr. Harding was watching intently, not knowing what to make of Jordan's obviously horrified expression. Such was the intensity of the interview, Harding jumped at the shuffle of footsteps behind her.

"Sorry," a gruff voice apologised. A man was standing slightly behind her, staring into the window, frowning.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" she said. The man tore his eyes away from the window and stared at her.

"Detective Hoyt," he said.

"Ah," Harding said. "Apologies. I'm Dr. Harding, on the Cavanaugh case."

"I see," Woody said in a perfect imitation of her polite tone. "Nice to meet you." Harding moved over to allow the detective a better view. She turned back.

"I wasn't there," Jordan was saying, hoarsely. "I went to get lunch." She couldn't believe this. Of all the times, of all the damn places she could be… She was going down.

"Do you want a lawyer present?" Mathers asked. Jordan looked at him, startled.

"No," she said decidedly. "No I'll be fine."

Mathers nodded. "So no one can verify your whereabouts at the time of the murder." She shook her head, closing her eyes.

"Did you murder your father?"

Jordan's head snapped up.

"No," she said, voice strong again. "No, I did not."

"Just thought I'd ask," Mathers said blandly. "You're aware your hair was on his body?"

"Yes."

Mathers sighed. "How about you tell me everything that happened? I mean everything. From the murder to your being here. Lie and I can't help you."

Jordan nodded, figuring she was screwed anyway so it didn't matter. She knew how these things worked. Woody was obviously thinking along the same lines, his hands were gripping the window sill, knuckles white, listening intently, as Jordan related the story, not omitting a single detail, to Mathers, a detective Woody knew had a reputation for cracking people in the interrogation room. Even people who were innocent. Despite their harsh exchange of words before, he cared very much about her fate, and knew beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt that she did not, could not kill her father.

"So this brother. He grabbed your gun. You didn't try to hang on?"

"He's a lot stronger than me, Detective." She was not going to tell him that she did all in her power to help her brother, the last remaining member of her family. She was sure that he hadn't murdered Tom Malden in cold blood, just like Woody was sure about her. She had helped him, and would continue to do all in her power to do so.

"I see," Mathers said. "And he ran?"

"Yes. Detective Hoyt chased him but he got away."

Behind the glass, Dr. Harding finally realised who Detective Hoyt was. She turned to the man she had spoken to, who had an expression of pain and suspense on his face as he watched the interview take place.

_Interesting, _she mused. _The plot thickens._

"He was the only other person who heard Jack Koreldy confess?" Mathers asked.

"Yes," she said, hanging her head. She suddenly remembered that he was dead, and she would be copping the rap for his murder as well.

"You understand that this is not good?"

"You think?" Jordan said sarcastically, staring out the window, trying to banish the tears that were threatening to flow.

"Alright," Mathers said, standing. "Interview suspended at 12:13pm." He clicked the tape off. "I'll be back soon. I have to chase a couple of things up. How about you come down to the holding cells and we'll set you up…just until we have sorted everything out."

Jordan nodded fiercely. A great determination swept over her. She would _not _bow. She would hold her head high and take it as it came. Which is what she did. She lifted her chin as Mathers gripped her below her elbow, eyes glinting as he led her out, daring the world to throw another hurdle in her way.

Woody watched her go, anguish written on his honest features. "The holding cells?" he muttered in disbelief. Harding watched her also, moved by her obvious defiance. She found herself believing the ME.

"Hey," she said soothingly to the detective. "I'll keep you updated, ok? I wouldn't count on Mathers to do it."

Woody stared at her, as if only just seeing her. "Right," he said, and walked off. Harding shrugged, and raised her eyebrows at the returning Det. Mathers.

"What do you think?" she said. He frowned.

"I'm not buying it," he said.

"You think she did it."

"I do."

"Interesting," she said. "Well I better get back to the morgue and find your evidence for you, hadn't I?"

--------

It would be so easy to sleep. Just to lay her head down and never lift it, never again be subjected to the tiring ways of the world she lived in. She was just so damn weary! The events of the past few days had sapped her of any energy that may have remained in her, and now all she wanted was peace. Blessed oblivion.

But she would not succumb, she never could. She was strong, she had been strong up to this point, and all the pain would have been for nothing if she were to give up today. So she plodded on. _One foot in front of the other, _she thought, making it her mantra, as she lay her forehead against the cold stone that was the wall of the cell. It wasn't as though she had never spent the odd night in a holding cell, when she went off the rails, but it was different this time. She was genuinely innocent.

She had not even been in there half an hour, before she had a visitor. It was Dr. Harding.

"Dr. Cavanaugh?" she said uncertainly, as the guard opened the door.

"Dr. Harding," Jordan said, not bothering to stand. "Have a seat."

Harding smiled at the irony in her voice, and stayed standing.

"If there's anything you didn't tell him, please tell me. I believe you."

"You do?" Jordan asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. But Mathers doesn't."

Jordan's eyes narrowed. "I'm a medical examiner, too, you know. I've played this game before."

"Which game?" Harding asked innocently.

"The bad cop good doctor game," she said savagely.

"I do like that game," Harding said. "But do you think I would be stupid enough to try it on a fellow player?"

Jordan rested her head against the wall. "I really don't care anymore," she said, honestly, the worry and weariness she was feeling creeping into her voice. Harding softened even more, if that was possible. _This woman is either real innocent or a real good actor_, she decided.

"So tell me. Anything you left out?"

Jordan looked up at her. "I helped him escape."

"James," Harding confirmed, and Jordan nodded, surprised she remembered the name. "You gave him your gun."

"Not exactly," she said. "But I didn't exactly yank it back off him."

"Ok," Harding said, pleased that she seemed to be in the woman's confidence. How uneducated she was. "Why?"

Jordan sat up straighter and stared at the woman. The question had startled her. "He's my brother," she said uncertainly. Harding raised her eyebrow.

"You've met him, what, three times? Until a couple of years ago you didn't even know he existed!"

Jordan's eyes narrowed, but she remained silent.

Harding continued. "He comes, helps you find your father's murderer, puts you in danger, then scarpers, with your help. You risk your own freedom to help him escape, when you know he is a murderer?"

Jordan cleared her throat. "He is not a murderer," she said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Ah of course. This is your perverted sense of justice kicking in."

Jordan snapped. She stood.

"Don't you talk like you know me," she said, voice raised. "You don't know the first damn thing about me. Just get out of here."

They were both standing, looking into each other's eyes. The challenge was there, but Harding turned it down. She gave one last exasperated look before turning on her heel and striding out of the cell. Jordan fell back onto the bed, and placed her head back on the cool cement walls, mind completely blank.

------

"There's nothing pinning anyone to the murder except her," Nigel said to Garret.

"But we know she didn't do it," Garret said. Nigel started. He hadn't even begun to contemplate that she may have, somehow, killed her father. The first small shred of doubt crept into his mind. He stared at Garret, who read the doubt in his eyes.

"There is no way," he said firmly. Nigel could see that the Chief ME would never, never doubt her, not even when all the odds were stacked against her and even her dearest friends did not believe her. Garret would remain true. The thought somewhat disturbed Nigel, he hoped beyond hope that she was innocent, if only to spare Garret the pain of her betrayal.

"Can they pin her on the hair?" Nigel asked. Garret looked away.

"You know how it works," he replied, uncertain. "Means, motive, opportunity, plus the forensic evidence."

"She had means," Nigel said.

"The bullet didn't match her gun," Garret said quickly, remembering the test he had run earlier that day.

"Doesn't mean she couldn't have got another one," he countered. Garret looked at him sharply. Nigel put his hands up. "I'm just trying to work through this," he said.

Garret hesitated, then nodded. "She also had opportunity."

"But no motive."

"No," he said. Nigel paused.

"That we know of," he said.

"No," Garret repeated. "Its not even remotely possible, Nigel. We have to fiund a way to pin Koreldy."

"He's dead," Nigel pointed out.

"All the better for us," Garret said stonily, and stalked out. Nigel watched him go. The small seed that was doubt had erupted in his mind, leaving him uncertain of everything, even Garret's motives seem impure in his mind. He shook his head, frowning fiercly, and left the room.

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**Review! Please! lol. Ok. No but seriously its so fun to read... very encouraging...thanks to the people who have already reviewed!**


	10. Seeds of Doubt Pt 2

**A/N: Hey...! Thanks for reviewing guys...! Means a lot! I love it! I can't believe I have 27 reviews:D :D Only a few chapters to go now...not entirely sure how its going to end...oh well...read on and enjoy! I'll really appreciate critical comments...even on grammatical errors, though I've been trying to avoid those. Anyway...don't let me keep you! ;)

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**Chapter 10 – Seeds of Doubt Pt 2**

"Hey, Dr. Macy!" Dr. Harding was jogging to catch up with the large strides of the Chief ME. He turned, a look of intense irritation on his face.

"Dr. Harding," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Dr. Cavanaugh has been relocated to the holding cells down at the Boston precinct."

Garret's eyes closed, and he looked up for a second, before returning his gaze to his newest recruit.

"They don't believe her," he said.

"Mathers doesn't," she confirmed. "And I don't exactly blame him."

"And why is that?" Garret said, voice quiet, in an uncanny imitation of the tone of the ME they were discussing when she was addressing Harding in the cells at the precinct. Momentarily shaken, Harding tried to pull an answer together.

"Because she has means, opportunity and the…"

"Forensics put her there," Garret finished for her. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Ok. I believe her."

Garret narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Because from the little I know of her, she does not come across as one who hides feelings well."

Garret laughed bitterly. "You got that right."

"She wasn't acting. The look on her face when she realised she didn't have an alibi…that was not feigned. No one could feign that."

"What a pity you aren't the jury, then, Dr. Harding. Your belief is not going to help her."

Harding frowned as Macy shot her a dark look before storming into the corridor, stabbing a finger into the button on the elevator, and leaving the building.

Just as forcefully, he pushed open the doors of the Boston precinct, and rapped on Woody's office.

"Hey Doc," he said wearily as he opened his door.

"Woody," Garret said by way of greeting. "What's news?"

"News?" Woody said in mild disbelief. "I've just been interrogated, now am trying to get through the damn report that has to be filled out on Koreldy's death."

"Must be awful for you," Garret said sardonically, ignoring Woody's indignant look. "They've got her in the holding cells."

"I know," Woody replied, uncertainly.

"How is she?"

"I don't know," he said, and shifted uncomfortably as Garret turned a cold stare onto him.

"You haven't seen her." It wasn't a question.

"I haven't exactly had hours of leisure time," he snapped, incensed

Garret sighed, letting it go. "What have you got on Koreldy?"

Woody stared in disbelief. "What do you mean, what have I got? I am being watched like a damn hawk! I'm lucky not to have been demoted. We should not have been in New York."

Garret frowned. "We had to go," he said.

"No!" Woody shouted. "For once, couldn't we have done something by the damn book? Now we're investigating two murders!"

"Murder?" Garret said, voice raised for the second time in half an hour. "She did not murder him!"

"Yeah, that's right, self defence," Woody said sardonically. Garret shot him a filthy look before turning angrily and leaving his office, making for the holding cells.

After jumping through a few hoops, he was escorted to her cell by a hard faced guard, who thrust a key into a lock, and opened the door. Garret was gently pushed into the room before the door closed behind him.

It took his eyes a while to adjust to the dim, but when they did he wished they hadn't. She was not asleep, but she was lying on her side, hand under her face. Her eyes were wide and conveyed a deep feeling of apathy as she stared into the wall. He knew that she was aware of his presence. Heart nearly breaking at the pathetic figure in front of him, he sat on the bed, listening to its creaking mixed with her shallow breaths.

"Hey," he said quietly. She did not answer, instead continued staring. "You home?"

Garret sighed quietly at the lack of reply. "It's going to be fine," he said. "We're not going to let them pin it on you."

This incited a response.

"What if I did it?" she asked.

"What?" Garret said, genuinely shocked.

"I've heard of it happening," she said, shrugging. "People murder people and don't remember doing it. Seems convenient that I was not anywhere at 2:30pm the day of the murder."

"Don't be stupid, Jordan," he said. "There's no way you killed him."

"I know," she conceded. "I've been trying to see it from Mathers' point of view. It's not that hard, which is the scary part."

"You didn't do it," he said.

"How do you know?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes. "You weren't with me at the time. It could have been me, for all you know."

_Hell, what was she trying to do? _"I don't doubt you, Jordan. Never."

"Why?" she whispered hoarsely, pleading, begging him for something she could not identify. "When have I given you just cause not to doubt me?"

"Ever since I met you some 10 years ago, dammit Jordan!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I should have listened to you," she said quietly.

Garret cast his eyes to the ceiling. "Yeah, probably," he said. "I'm just glad you came home."

Jordan let out a bitter parody of a laugh. "You shouldn't be glad," she said. "I carry around a trail of trouble wherever I go."

"Don't be stupid. Of course I am glad," he said firmly. Jordan broke, her determination and fire leaving her in a rush of breath. She buried her face into the pillow to keep the tears at bay. She could not stand him seeing her so vulnerable, and he in turn could not stand seeing it. He put a hand on her shoulder, and felt it shaking. He pulled her up, her strength having long since flown, she allowed herself to be pulled up and around to face him. There were no physical tears, but she was trembling and her teeth were gritted together. Garret pulled her against him and held her shoulders, his own teeth pushed against each other in attempt not to keep tears, but temper at bay. He was ready to jump up, to scream and shout and demand justice, but figured it would not help the current situation overmuch. So he contented in squeezing the thin frame of his friend tight, and plotting her release.

--------

"Hey Lil," Nigel said, opening the door to her office. She was sitting at her desk, clicking absently on the mouse of her computer.

"Hey Nigel." She returned the greeting. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, just a friendly chat. We haven't had one in ages."

Lily turned from the screen and looked at her friend. "No," she agreed. "What's up?"

Nigel sighed. "What isn't, is a more accurate question," he said. "Its just this whole Jordan thing."

"Somehow 'this whole Jordan thing' is a fitting name," Lily said, making an attempt at humour. "What's eating you?"

Nigel looked at her. "They all think she did it," he said quietly.

"Who?"

"The cops, the DA's office."

"Since when did we care what they think?"

"Since they have her locked in the holding cells down at the precinct," he said. Lily's eyes narrowed.

"They do?" she said. Nigel nodded.

"Yeah. She doesn't have an alibi."

Lily frowned.

"She has means, opportunity, and there's that damned hair," Nigel continued.

"Millions of people had 'means and opportunity', Nigel."

"I know but…" he stopped.

"You don't think she actually…" Lily trailed off.

"I don't know what to think," he admitted. "I'd hate to think it but…there is that damned hair."

Lily frowned, allowing herself to wonder. She had done some stupid things…. no! She cast the thought from her mind at once. There was no way. _Was there?_

------

Woody was at a loss. He had no cases at the moment – in fact he had been informally restricted to desk duty pending the investigation of the Koreldy death, which he was being held only partly responsible for. It was his own damn fault, he figured, he should not have gone after her in the first place. But he would not have been able to live with himself had he not, and he knew it.

He sat at his desk, staring furtively out of the window, taping his fingers on the top of the desk with agitation. She was here, in the precinct, so close, but both of them had made it clear, they did not want to see each other. He felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered how he had snapped at the chief ME about half and hour ago, and made a mental note to go and make it up to him sometime.

"Damn," he uttered, and reluctantly stood. He could only try; after all, she was still the closest friend he had. He followed the path that Garret had taken, albeit unwittingly, and found himself standing outside the thick door that was designed to keep murderers in. Despite what he had said earlier, he did not, could not believe that Jordan was a murderer. It was not possible. Not in the slightest. He nodded to the guard, who recognised him, and entered the cell as the door was opened for him.

Jordan was sitting on the bed, her back resting against the wall, book open. She looked up calmly as he entered, and not a single sign of surprise did she show. He was mildly disconcerted at the bland apathy that was exuding from her, and jumped slightly as the door clicked closed behind him.

"Hey," he said in a husky voice. The sound of it send a pang of something unidentifiable into Jordan's belly. She sat up straighter and answered.

"Welcome to my lair," she said acerbically. He frowned.

"I'm working on getting you out of here," he said untruthfully. Jordan raised an eyebrow as if suspecting deception. He shuffled uncomfortably.

"The body is being released tomorrow," he said. Panic swept over her again. The feeling had become quite familiar to her, almost friendly.

"The body?" she said dully.

Woody sighed, casting his eyes to the ceiling. "What can I say, Jordan?"

"I don't know," she said. "What do you want to say?"

She had thrown the ball back at him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I said some stupid things back in New York and…"

"Don't apologise," she said. Woody stared at her properly, and noticed that her eyes had steeled and there was a hard edge to her voice. She had decided, as Garret left, that the only victim in this whole mess was her father and she wouldn't keep acting like one herself. She was the only one who could get herself out of the mess she had managed to create, and she'd be damned if grief or bereavement would get in her way. "I should apologise. And I will." She stood, surprisingly steady on her feet considering she hadn't slept in about four days, and thrust her hand in the detective's direction. Suddenly, control shifted and Woody no longer held it. Jordan held her head up and watched, detached, as Woody's warm hand took her cold one. She shook it formally and wrenched it none-too-gently out of his grasp. Recognising dismissal, he followed 'protocol' and turned, leaving the cell. Jordan watched him go stonily, before sitting back down on her bed and retrieving her book.

--------

Garret stared out of his window, hands clasped and supporting his head. On the street below people scurried by, seemingly afraid of the oncoming darkness, or of the clouds that were swirling in the sky. Either way, he thought, they had no business being afraid of such natural occurrences.

Yet it didn't prevent humanity being unduly afraid of death. They were all guilty of it, every one of them. He dealt with death every day of his life, death _was _his life. And yet it was still unknown, still unchartered territory. _Unchartered? _He wondered at the word. It was certainly not true. People had been dying since the dawn of time. Or so he surmised. Thought processes stop, cells disintegrate, the body shuts down. Why was it so easy for them to accept animals dying? To accept plants dying, when surely it is exactly the same thing? It follows the same process. Yet they were so trumped up they believed that they should be able to cheat death, should be able to escape it. How wrong they all were, he mused. They can no more escape death than they could live without breathing. It catches up with us all in the end, he figured. Whether we be young, sprightly and with much to give to the world, or old and decrepit, devoid of independence and everything that accompanied it.

_Max would not have wanted that, _he thought suddenly. It was almost killing him to be idle. He had heard Jordan's accounts of her father just after his time as a police officer came to a close, buying that damn bar was the only thing keeping him from the brink of madness after he left. And if he could not run it anymore? What would happen once he got too old to deal with it? Would he sit at home in his rocking chair with a blanket over his sorry lap, rocking to and fro in an incessant rhythm of weariness? Eating only that which would be able to be digested by his weakened body? Breathing growing shallower, eyes growing duller, intelligence, even _essence _waning until he didn't even recognise his own daughter? _Sans everything. _He would not have wanted that. And yet that was life. It was what was beckoning to them all. He himself would have to face it, and he actually wondered for the first time if he would prefer death to old age. He certainly wouldn't appreciate redundancy. He was still needed, needed here to keep everyone in check, to speak for the dead and help his colleagues do the same. His daughter still needed him, even though she was practically grown. His bottle of whisky at home needed him. He snorted, and stood, preparing to indulge in that particular thought, and go home. There was nothing more that he could do.

He walked out of his office, and heard a female voice apparently talking on the phone. Surprised, as he was under the impression that he was the only one still here, he looked around for the source, and was even more intrigued as he saw it was Dr. Harding. He hadn't done a background check on her, he realised with a start. It was unlike him, remembering back to the last few new staff members that had added themselves to his 'elite' crew, and the fact that he knew all there was to know from a record about them within 10 minutes of them being there.

Harding had the phone to her ear and an intense look of weariness on her face.

"Just do it," she snapped. "Please." Something told Garret she was acquainted with whomever she was speaking to. He wandered up to her office, reaching the door just as she replaced the receiver on the cradle of the conventional black office phones that were so damn common in this place. In all workplaces, he assumed. When he was done analysing the blandness of the phone, he met Harding's eyes.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked, deadpanning. Her head snapped up, she had not sensed him there.

"Dr. Macy," she said, not standing. "I'm just following up on something."

Garret's eyes trailed over her office. There was a takeaway food container on the desk; she obviously was not planning on leaving any time soon.

"The only case you have at the moment is the…Cavanaugh case."

"I am aware of that, thanks Dr. Macy."

Garret sighed inwardly and glanced up at the ceiling before looking back to her.

"I would appreciate it if you would keep me informed."

"Despite clear instructions from the DA to the opposite?" she said, eyebrow raised. An unreadable look crossed the Chief ME's face. "I won't tell Renee if you wont," he said dryly.

"Well I'm sure _Renee _has her ears," she said cryptically, accentuating the use of her first name.

"Are you one of them?"

Harding considered the question. "No," she said.

"Good," he said gruffly, sitting in the chair opposite her. "What do you have?"

Harding looked at him, sizing him up. "Its not looking good," she said finally. "There is no one linking anyone, _anyone _to the scene bar Dr. Cavanaugh."

"And you know why that is?"

"Why?" _This will be good, _Harding thought.

"If your father was lying on the ground, would you check to see if he was alive?" he asked. She nodded.

"Of course."

"The hair could have been exchanged there."

"Could have," she said, cocking her head to one side, chewing on the end of her pen.

Garret shook his head. "He was shot, no?"

"You know he was."

"So how does a gunshot victim get the hair of his shooter on him?"

"Unless they fought," Harding said. Garret let out a sigh of frustration.

"Its not possible!" he exploded.

"That they fought?"

"You know what I mean," he said.

"I'm afraid the police don't see it that way. The fact that she was there, before the cops…"

"Lets talk this through, Dr. Harding," he said in his best patronising voice. "Jordan shoots her father. She drives back to the morgue, in her right mind, says hello to me as she walks past. Then four hours later she decides to drive out to the body? It doesn't make sense! It can't!"

"Can't it?"

Garret's eyes turned cold. "No," he said with complete surety. Harding nodded, conceding, accepting his trust of her.

"Nothing unusual in the toxicology results."

"I know," Garret said in a strangled voice. "I ran it!"

"Well what _do_ you want to know?"

"I want to know what Mathers has."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Why do you think?" He left it hanging. "Do you know anything?"

"I know that he does no believe Dr. Cavanaugh. You know what that can do to an officers work ethic."

"They don't try as hard," he confirmed, and she nodded.

"Bingo," she said wearily. "He's trying to get a hold of details on Adam Macklin. Or James Horton as we now know him. He seems very interested in the brother."

"Why?"

"Because he was here. In Boston."

"He…what? When?"

"Dr. Cavanaugh's theory is that he rang her."

"Damn," he muttered. "So the tally of suspects is three."

"Yeah," she said. "Mathers isn't looking too much into Koreldy."

"Why not?"

"He's dead," she said shrugging. "But I do have a small shred of good news. Thanks to Detective Hoyt's testimony, it's been ruled self-defence. She's not being tried for that."

"Great," Garret said, but with little feeling. "So you know nothing else?"

"My side of it is finished. I submitted my report, which was no different to yours. Its up to the cops now," she said, shrugging.

Garret stood. "You really need to hang around Jordan more," he said, and left the office. Harding watched him all the way down the corridor, a small frown just evident on her face.

------

"You want her out, Hoyt? You're gonna have to watch her. Like a hawk." The voice on the other end of the telephone sounded amused, as if he did this every day. And he probably did.

"How hawk-like?" he asked, running a hand through his hair. There was a chuckle.

"As in, stay with her."

"Oh," he said. "Can't I get someone else too…"

"If that someone else is a cop, sure. Sorry, Hoyt, it's the only way the DA's office would agree to it."

Woody closed his eyes. The 'DA's office' was a phrase he was fast becoming tired of.

"Fine," he said. "I'll be there soon. How much did you say?"

The man rattled of an exuberant amount, and again Woody sighed.

"Ok," he said. "I'll be down there in a sec."

Belying his words, he was down at the holding cells within ten minutes. Exchanging a few words with the guard on duty, he smiled sardonically and waited for the prisoner to be let out.

She came out, blinking in the sudden light, looking non-too-pleased to see him standing there.

"She's all yours," the man said, and Woody winced, expecting an onslaught from Jordan. But she surprised him, staring at the ground, not seeming to care about anything. He could deal with anger, he could deal with sarcasm but he could not deal with this terrible blandness that had seemed to overtake her.

"What's going on?" she asked in a neutral voice.

"I thought you'd prefer my apartment to the holding cell," he explained. The guard watched them, scathingly. Woody sent him a dirty look, which he did not heed.

"Your apartment?" she said suspiciously.

"One of the conditions of your release," he said shrugging.

"Convenient," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said, offended.

"Why does it have to be your apartment?" she asked.

"Fine. We can go to yours if you like."

"Ok," she said quickly. He nodded his thanks at the guard, and led Jordan out. She sent a regretful glance behind her – she had to admit that the bland walls and décor of the cell had appealed to her bleak mood – besides, she was starting to really get into that cheesy romance novel. It contained some ideal concepts, actually confronting issues that were causing tension! Jordan scoffed, shook her head, and dismissed them as utter lunacy. Confront them? Not likely!


	11. Of Crime Dramas and News Bulletins

**A/N: Thankyou NadezhdaSt and Orlando-crazy for reviewing chapter 10! And, NadezhdaSt - if you want more Renee, then more Renee you shall get. I like her too - wanted to write her in more before this but couldn't figure out a way to do it in a nice light - basically its just been Garret telling her where to stick it, haha. These characters have a mind of their own, I swear. Aaaand...h****ow are you guys liking Dr. Harding? ****Ok, well, usual disclaimer...and here we go!**

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**Chapter 11: Of Crime Dramas and News Bulletins**

Jordan had never felt so uncomfortable in her own home. Woody watched her constantly with a quiet scrutiny that was driving her up the wall. She had already taken far more than was necessary toilet breaks just to escape his gaze.

They were sitting on the couch watching some crime drama, which was punctuated occasionally by Woody's sullen mutters.

"As if," he would scoff every ten minutes. Or; "Yeah right."

Jordan was only half-listening but she had the whole case figured out in the first 15 minutes. _They were so damn predictable, _she thought. _Wish our cases were this clear cut._

"Do you think it was the brother?" Woody asked her. Jordan looked at him, trying not to roll her eyes.

"You don't watch this show very often, do you?" she asked.

"First time," he confessed.

"It's the boyfriend," Jordan told him. Woody shook his head.

"Nope. Too obvious."

"My point exactly," she said cryptically.

"But he has an alibi. The girls mother…"

"Is in on it too."

"I didn't know your conspiracy theories translated to TV as well," he said, looking at her.

Jordan sighed. "Remember that reference to the ice-cream parlour she had at the start?" she said, with the tone of one explaining something to a small child.

"I thought that was just small talk," he said, puzzled.

"There is no small talk on TV, Woody," she said. "Everything is said for a reason."

"Why can't it be a red herring? That way there's still a reason."

"Far too subtle for it to be a red herring," she said airily.

And, as predicted by the ME, when the program ended it was discovered that it was indeed the boyfriend, aided by the mother.

"You have the right to remain silent," the overly dressed, far-too-good-looking detective said, cuffing the young man. "Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law."

The camera panned out, fading, and the credits rolled.

" 'You have the right to an attorney!'" Woody said indignantly. "They always leave out the attorney part!" He looked at Jordan, who was staring through the TV. "Good call, by the way. Do you just sit at home watching crime dramas all day?"

"Hey I try to catch Days of Our Lives when I can," she said, smiling. At his puzzled look, she rolled her eyes. "What do you do in your spare time if you don't watch TV?"

Woody frowned. "Go over old case files of mine. Pick flaws."

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was obsessive," she said.

"And of course there is the odd bout of guard duty I am obliged to do," he said.

"Of course," she replied. "Look, I think I am going to hit the sack…"

Woody glanced at the clock. "Its only 8:30, Jordan," he said.

"Gee, thanks," she said dryly.

Woody sighed. "Is this uncomfortable?"

She looked at him, toying with the answer.

"Yes," she said finally."

"It shouldn't be," he said. "We're supposed to be friends."

"The tiny matter of me being charged for murder seems to be getting in the way. The even smaller matter of my father being dead, maybe."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. What is there to say?"

"How do you feel?"

Jordan's mouth twisted. "How did you feel when your father died?" she snapped, and was instantly regretful. "I apologise, that was uncalled for, I…"

"Don't worry," he said. "I felt angry, at him, at the guy who killed him, my brother, myself. There was nothing I could have done, I know that, but you can't help feeling guilty."

At her nod, he continued. "Disbelief – how could my father be dead? It took me a while to orientate myself with that. The want for revenge."

"There you have it in a nutshell," she said quietly. She shifted on the lounge, so she was facing him. _Damn these tiny sofas, _she thought, referring to their close proximity. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"I've been so wrapped up in myself, I never even stopped to consider how every one else was holding up."

"Don't beat yourself up. Your father has just been murdered."

Jordan stiffened to drew back.

"Say it again," she said so quietly he was sure he had imagined it.

"Say…what?"

"The second thing you said…"

"Your…father has just been murdered?"

She took in a deep breath. "Its not real," she said, looking wildly ahead. "Its so surreal…I need to be grounded, I need to believe that…say it again."

Knowing the feeling all to well, he complied.

"Your father is dead," he said firmly, locking his eyes on hers.

"Dead," she echoed, nodding slowly.

"God, Jordan," he said.

The spell broke. "You don't need to call me God, Woody. I know I'm good…but it's just too formal."

He smiled. "That sarcasm of yours is just second nature now, isn't it?" he commented, lightening the mood even further.

"Comes with the job." She shrugged.

"I'd noticed," he said dryly. She smiled at him, though it did not reach her eyes.

"I'm tired," she said, rising from the couch. "I'm going to bed."

He nodded wearily, bid her goodnight and stretched out on her sofa, immersing himself in the news bulletin that was far worse than anything any crime drama screenwriters could dream up, and gradually drifted off to sleep.

----------

James had left New York City, and Adam Macklin behind. He had not been able to believe his luck when he had managed to outrun the cop who seemed to follow his sister like a shadow. He had no idea where he was headed, no way of knowing where to turn. He had no home, no job, no ties except to the sister he barely knew.

He wanted to know her, ached to. She was all he had left. And she had helped him escape, he was sure of it. She wanted to know him as much as he her. Why should the damn authorities, who knew nothing, get in his way?

That in mind, he decided to make his way to the only place he really could go, Boston. He had about a hundred dollars cash on him, which would have to last for the time being. He hailed a taxi and ordered it to take him to where they had dumped Jordan's car. Jumping in her vehicle, he began the lonely journey back to the city his mind had never really left.

----------

Jordan sat up with a start, heart pounding in her chest, drenched in cold sweat. She looked around wildly, trying to orientate himself.

_Home,_she told herself firmly. _I'm home._

But the child that remained with her, lingering from her dream was terrified.

_Daddy? _It called in a hight pitched, pitiful voice. _Daddy where are you?_

Taking in deep, shuddering breaths she tried to calm herself down. _He's not coming back, _she told the child-Jordan. _He's gone and he's never coming back._

But the thought would not stick.

_He can't be dead, he can't be gone, I remember his voice, his smell, the colour of his favourite damn shirt! He can't be dead!_

Her body refused to calm down. It shook and trembled, and her mind raced, thinking so many different thoughts, thoughts that if left unchecked would surely send her crazy. Her heart was beating fast, the blood pounding in her ears. She sat up and opened the window letting the cool air wash over her face. She stood, of a mind to make a coffee to calm herself. Opening her bedroom door, she almost jumped when she spotted Woody on the couch, legs hanging over the edge. She had completely forgotten he was here. She crept closer and knelt down on the floor hear his head, brushing the hair out of his eyes. She had to smile at the peaceful expression on his face. Laying her head on the side of the lounge, she drifted into a fitful sleep.

Some hours later, a car screeching around a corner woke the detective. His training kicked in and he was not disorientated for long. He noticed his companion immediately, sleeping on the floor beside his makeshift bed. There was a frown etched on her face, apparently she had an attitude even while sleeping. Thinking it would be doing no wonders for her neck, he sat up and pulled her up with him. She only half-awoke, looking at him in confusion.

"What…?" she mumbled, blinking.

"Back to bed," he muttered, hauling her arm over his broad shoulders.

"Ok," she said, mentally shrugging.

He kicked the door to her bedroom open and laid her down on the bed, pulling the covers over her. He turned and made to leave.

"Stay." The voice caused him to turn, she was sitting up, staring at him with wide eyes that weren't entirely her own. The child had returned.

"What?"

"Stay here," she repeated. "Please."

He nodded automatically and sat down next to her.

"Sorry to have woken you," she said in a small voice, looking down at the bedspread. "Daddy's at work."

It occurred to Woody that she had either lost it or was still in the throes of a dream.

"Mama said Daddy's job is dangerous," she told him. "He's a cop, you know."

"Me too," he said quietly.

Jordan's eyed widened. "You're a policeman too?"

"Yeah," he said, surveying her. "Listen, Jordan?"

"Yes?"

He paused. "Your Daddy is not coming home," he said gently, thinking that if he could make the subconscious child accept it, maybe the adult would too. Her eyes narrowed.

"Is he working late?"

Woody shook his head. "Your mother was right," he said. "It's a dangerous job."

"Then he's dead," she said stonily, effectively shattering any idea Woody may have had about sprouting the whole 'he's in a better place' story.

"Yes," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Woody saw her face change and knew, knew that the child was now older, but she still was not herself.

"Mama is dead, too. Who will look after me?"

"I don't…"

"Will my brother?"

"Your brother?" Obviously her subconscious was mixing everything up, the chronology of her life had been broken.

"James," she confirmed. "He's a big boy, isn't he?"

"James can't look after you," he said. "He has his own demons to deal with."

"Then I should help him." Her face was concerned.

"No," the detective said quickly. "You can't help him."

"But he's alone," she said, no understanding. "I'm alone."

"You're not," he said. "I'll take care of you."

She eyed him, then smiled. "Ok," she agreed, and lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes. Woody leant forward, brushed his lips against her forehead, and walked out.

-------

James parked outside the building that night, and got out of the car, going up to the apartment he knew was his sister. Hand poised to knock he stopped when he heard a male's voice. Not being able to decipher what he was saying or who he was, James slunk away. That's when he noticed the black car parked outside, just around the corner from the one he had driven here. He had

had enough dealings with the police to be able to tell it was a cop car – unmarked – and most likely the detective that had become so annoying, the one who had pursued him. He frowned, wondering why he was in Jordan's apartment at – he glanced at his watch – 11:30 at night. Shrugging, he settled back down in the car and waited.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, the detective had gotten into his car and driven off, thankfully not spotting the car he was secreted in. He reached for Jordan's car-phone, deciding that it was far better to be safe than miserably sorry – sorry as in sitting in a jail cell, maybe even on death row for the murder of the damn police chief who had so wronged them all.

---------

"I'm going down to the morgue," Woody told her when they had woken up. She stood up from the lounge where she had been eating.

"I'm coming."

"No," he said. "I'd say you're pretty much suspended."

"Until Dr. Macy says otherwise…"

"He rang this morning," Woody lied.

"Oh," she said, glancing at the phone. "Right. Aren't you scared that I'll go running off or something?"

"Will you?"

She thought about it. "No," she said truthfully.

"Well, I trust you."

She gave him a funny look. "That means a lot," she said. He inclined his head.

"I'll only be a couple of hours, max," he said. She nodded.

"Have fun."

"Did I mention I'm going to see Walcott?"

Jordan grinned. "Ok, then my previous comment it moot."

Woody laughed. "See you later."

She nodded and waved him out, picking up the phone as soon as he closed the door.

"Garret?" she said as soon as it picked up.

"Dr. Cavanaugh?" a woman's voice said.

"Dr. Harding," Jordan said. "Where is Dr. Macy?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"I don't know. I'll get him to call you when he gets back."

"Right," Jordan said, awkwardly. "Um…I don't suppose…oh don't worry. I'll see you around."

She pushed the phone back on the hook before Harding had a chance to reply. When it rang again, she jumped.

"Hello?"

"Jordan." The voice sent a chill down her back.

"James," she said. "Where are you?"

He chuckled, surprisingly. "Closer than you think." He found it hard to break from the cryptic speech he was so used to.

"Where? Are you alright?"

He frowned, noting the obvious concern in her voice. "I'm fine." He hesitated. "How are you?" He could almost imagine the sardonic look she was sporting.

"I've been better," she said, not elaborating.

"Are you alone?"

"For a couple of hours," she said bitterly.

"I'll come up."

"Up? What do you mean? Where…?" she stopped, an idea slamming into her brain. She rushed over to the window and pulled back the curtain, closing her eyes when she spotted her own car parked outside the building.

"James!" she hissed. "You're here?"

"I will be in a sec," he said. There was a knock at her door.

"That better be you," she hissed, hanging up the phone and opening the door.

"Hey sis," he said. She shook her head with exasperation, worry in her eyes, before grabbing his arm and yanking him inside.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought you'd be pleased to see me," he said, adopting a hurt expression.

"There is a cop here," she said, and watched him flinch and look around. "Not at the moment," she corrected. "He'll be back in a couple of hours. At the most. You have to get out of here."

"Why is there a cop here? He was here last night, too." He sounded so much like an overprotective brother she had to laugh.

"I'm still in custody," she said.

"Still?" She directed her brother to her lounge room and they sat. "What do you mean, custody?"

"I'm being investigated for his murder."

James didn't need to ask who she was talking about. "But Koreldy…"

"Seeing as I was the only credible witness there, and he's now conveniently dead…" She shrugged.

"And they're blaming you." There was a hard edge to his voice., and he stood up.

"Them's the breaks," she said, standing too, but he did not laugh.

"This isn't funny, Jordan. You could go to jail."

"No way," she scoffed. "I'll just do what you did." She was only half-serious, and was surprised when he replied vehemently.

"No," he spat. "I think jail would be better than this."

"At least you're free," she said, in n attempt to get him to talk more, to understand his plight.

"Free?" he said incredulously. "I have nothing. I am constantly on the run, constantly looking over my shoulder. You'd think the world could swallow you up, huh?"

"Surely you could start again, go get a new identity…"

"I tried, with Adam Macklin."

"I don't mean an identity with a past. He was a real person. You need a completely new one. If you stay out of trouble…"

"I know," he said. "But I have no money, no sources…"

"Let me help you," she said, and they both had the strangest sense of déjà vu. They stared at each other, the kitchen evaporating around them until all they could feel was the cold night air and all they could smell was the smog that was thick in the air on the night they thought they'd lost each other for good.

"_You're my only family now. My only blood. The only person who'll understand." James said, ignoring the two police, both of whom had their guns pointed right at him. His eyes were for Jordan alone._

"_That's right James, I do understand. That's why I'm the only one who can help you, okay? Just come back inside."_

But he hadn't come back inside. He had, after more dialogue between the four of them on the rooftop, and despite Jordan's desperate pleas, fallen backwards, holding his sisters eyes until she was out of sight.

The rain, pounding indignantly on the window, jerked them out of the scene and they stared wildly at each other.

"How could you have survived that damn fall, James?" she whispered, throat constricting with the memory.

He swallowed hard. "I don't know," he confessed. "I don't know."

"You have to get out of here. I'm not losing you, not again."

"Wow, that makes sense," he said dryly.

"You know what I mean. Take my car and get out until this whole thing blows over. Then come to me and I will help you."

He stared at her. "When it blows over?"

"Let me rephrase that. If I'm not in jail by the end of this mess, I'll help you."

James looked at her. "That serious, huh?"

"Worse," she said. "Walcott wants my ass."

"Nice," James said. "What's your prognosis, Doctor?"

She sighed. "I don't know how I am going to get out of this one, James. My hair was on his body." She began to pace subconsciously. "Nothing is putting anyone else there. The 911 call was made from…"

"The payphone," he said. Her head snapped up.

"You made it," she said.

He looked at the floor. "Yeah."

"Untraceable. No one is there but me. He's dead, I'm as good as. I could go away for life for this." She looked at him. "What were you doing there?"

He had been dreading this question. "I wanted to talk to him," he said.

"Koreldy?"

"Max."

"How did you know he was there?"

"Because I…" he hesitated, watching her face. It was so open, so readable. She wanted the truth, and he'd be damned if he'd lie to her, deceive her again.

"Because I took him there. It's my fault he's dead."

Jordan stared at him, misery in her eyes. "Tell me you didn't kill him," she said, knowing that even if he did she would not rat him out, she would take the plunge for him. Even so, she was immensely relieved when he shook his head.

"I didn't pull the trigger," he said. "But I killed him, as good as. Koreldy was following me."

"You didn't know he was?"

"No. I just wanted to talk to Max, ask him…I don't even know!" He was growing agitated. "I wanted to know my real name, maybe. More than that."

"I understand," she said, echoing the statement she made the night he jumped into the Charles. "I do."

He was shaking now, with grief, with misery. His whole life had been a sham, all of it! Damn it, _he didn't even know who he was!_

She sidestepped the table and grabbed onto him, embracing him for the second time in their lives. He stiffened, but she did not back off. He bowed his head against her, and they stood, for how long she didn't know.

They jumped apart, however, at the sound of a car below. Jordan ran to the window and watched in horror as Woody got out of his car and started to walk towards the building. Frozen in panic momentarily, she could only stare. But at a noise behind her, she snapped into action.

"Hide," she hissed. "Now! Get onto the fire escape!" He stared. "Go!" she yelled. Spurred into action, James grabbed the other window, hauling it up, and dragging himself out. Jordan spun around, staring around at her apartment, before punching the button on the TV and taking deep breaths. As the door opened, she managed to burst out laughing.

Woody stared at her, hard look on his face. "What's funny?"

"The TV," she said, not able to keep up the charade. She turned the TV off.

"You're back early," she said.

He ignored her. "Your car is out the front, Jordan. How in the hell did it get there?"


	12. A Helping Hand

**A/N: Hey NadezhdaSt! Thanks so much for a great reviews - I do love the long ones:D And Orlando-crazy - thanks for the constant reviews its really nice! I love you guys! Haha.**

**Ok- well this isn't exactly as progressive as I would have liked but its a filler-in and I promise the next chapter will go somewhere! Haha. Okay well...la di da!**

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**Chapter 12: A Helping Hand**

"The tow man came," Jordan said blandly. "They traced it back to me and…well because of the whole Koreldy investigation they looked at it, decided it wasn't a forensic treasure trove and handed it back over. Just in time, too."

Woody eyed her suspiciously. "Don't throw my trust back in my face, Jordan."

'_You can't help him, Jordan.' _Woody's voice came to her, unbidden, but she could not for the life of her recall when he had said that. She had the urge to pull back the curtain and reveal her brother, tell him everything. He would help, he would help them both.

She snapped out of it quickly, thankfully. Jumping to attention, she fixed a bored expression on her face, trying to hide her racing heart.

"Why are your cheeks flushed?" he asked, still not knowing if he could trust her.

She looked at him, then laughed airily. "Cute guy on the comedy show," she said, shrugging.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. "You hungry?"

"Yes!" she shouted quickly, and then cursed herself. "Starving!"

"What do you have?" he said, going over to her fridge.

"Nothing," she said, too quickly again. He looked at her and she shrugged.

"There's a nice place a few blocks away," she said. "Lets go there."  
He closed the fridge. "Okay."

"I'll just go lock up," she said, walking over to the window. "Go down to the car and I'll catch up. I have to grab something, too."

He nodded, and walked out. Jordan ran to the window.

"Scram," she said, poking her head around the frame. The fire escape was bare, and Jordan spotted a figure wearing dark brown clothes sprinting down the street and out of sight. She watched him go, and hoped he would somehow be able to come back.

They returned from the café, and Jordan had half-forgotten the scare of that morning. The two were laughing and chatting, their good spirits only diminishing when the phone rang.

"Jordan?" a female voice asked.

"Hi, Renee," she said, frowning and gesturing for Woody.

"You're home. Following my instructions. Should I call a doctor?"

"I figured you didn't need another excuse to nail my ass to the wall," she said mildly. Renee made a sound.

"Detective Hoyt there?" she asked.

"Yep, here," she said, handing the phone to Woody.

"Miss Walcott," he said, and Jordan rolled her eyes, turning away to rinse her hands under the tap. "No, no I understand. I'll be right down. Yes, I have the file, I'll…okay. See you there."

"Sounds ominous," Jordan said when he had put the phone back on the cradle.

"Why didn't she ring my cell?" he asked, puzzled.

"Checking up on me."

Woody nodded. "Probably. But she's the DA for God's sakes. You'd think she'd get one of her minions to do it. Its not even that much of a high profile case."

"Respected Medical Examiner is charged with the murder of her ex-cop father? I'd say that's high-ish."

Woody looked at her, losing the battle to keep the smile off his face.

"Okay, okay," she said, raising her arms in defeat. "Un-respected. She's probably just doing it because of her…ties to the medical examiners office."

"Her affair with Dr. Macy," Woody said. Jordan nodded.

"And its no secret she's always disliked me," she added. Woody sighed.

"Only because your personalities are alike, and you rub her up the wrong way every chance you get!"

Jordan paused. "I resent both of those comments," she said with slightly amused irritation. "First of all, I am so far from Renee…" she stopped, shaking her head. It didn't matter. "Second, the idea of rubbing her _any_ way isn't exactly something one should dwell on right after breakfast."

Woody couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well I better go down and…" he trailed off.

"Yes, you wouldn't want to keep her highness waiting. I'm going to bed," she said. He stared at her.

"Its only 11:15!"

Jordan shook her head. "I don't know how I coped with that clock before you came," she said. "Thanks for the update. Goodnight."

Woody frowned and watched her walk away. He hoped she woke before he returned, he did not particularly want to deal with her should she wake up dreaming again, once hearing the pitiful voice with the sad-but-dignified undertone was enough.

"I could have come to you," Woody said uncomfortably, eyeing the district attorney uncomfortably, closing the door of his office behind him.

Walcott shrugged. "This isn't exactly the most conventional of cases," she said in a smooth voice. Woody had to blink – he was sure she had convinced many judges and juries of her point with that voice. He could not let his guard down – this woman was dangerous. In a way he had not previously encountered. He had to tread lightly.

"I'd noticed," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you have the Koreldy file?"

Woody turned away, rifling through his desk.

"Here," he said, handing her a fat manilla folder. She looked at it, and he watched her read.

"It fits," he nudged. Her head snapped up.

"You believe her," she said. Her voice was not accusatory but he knew what she was saying.

"Yes," he said fiercly. "I doubted her once before and it was unfounded. I wont make the same mistake again."

"Sit down, detective," she said. He looked at her for longer than was necessary, just long enough to be impudent, and sat behind his desk. She sat opposite him.

"I need to ask this."

Woody waited, having an idea of what was coming next.

"Do you think your judgement is clouded?"

Whatever he expected, it was not this. He was taken aback for a second, before composing himself. He thought about it.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. She waited. "I know her, know her well. Probably better than she knows herself, at times. I just don't think she is capable of it."

"Is that what you are basing your belief on?"

"Koreldy as the killer fits. She wouldn't go after him for nothing."

"Unless she was covering her tracks. There are two theories. Both of them fit."

Woody paused, a frown of concentration appearing on his brow.

"There's a third theory," he said quietly, not looking at Renee.

"Oh?"

"Her brother."

"Right. He was supposed to have been there, too. How convenient."

"He was there," Woody said loudly. "I watched as he held a gun to his sisters head before shoving her at me and bolting. He was there," he repeated quietly.

"Okay," she conceded, humouring him. "So what's your theory?"

"I don't have a theory," he said angrily. "I just don't understand – you know her, how can you possibly think she is capable of murder?"

"Dr. Cavanaugh is capable of a lot," she said. "She killed Koreldy, didn't she?"

"That is different," he said forcibly. "He had a gun, it was self defense."

"Yet the gun didn't match the bullet in Koreldy's gun."

"It didn't match Jordan's, either! How do you explain that?"

"She used someone else's."

"Whose? And why can't Koreldy have done the same thing? Why do you want to believe it was her?"

"It fits," she said, still in that cool voice.

"So does Koreldy," he said, willing her to be swayed.

"Mathers wants another crack at her." She watched the detective's face contort. She liked him, couldn't help but like him, but felt he was just protecting her because of their relationship. Whatever that was.

"Crack?" he echoed. "Fine."

"Does she need a lawyer?"

"No," he said immediately, knowing her. Renee frowned.

"Its probably a good idea. I know a few," she said dryly.

Woody almost smiled. "Well there's a stretch," he commented, standing. "I'll bring her in."

"Good." Renee paused, sizing up her next move. "Maybe you should let him interview you, as well."

Woody turned and looked at her.

"I have already been questioned in regards to Koreldy's death," he said.

"This is for Cavanaugh."

Woody looked at the floor. "If you think it will help," he said stiffly, walking out.

"Depends on who you want to help," she said softly, watching him go.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Jordan said dubiously as they walked, together, through the main doors of the Boston PD precinct.

Woody stared ahead, only breaking his gaze to return greetings by his colleagues.

"I'm asking you to do this," he said.

"I know. I'm here, aren't I?"

He inclined his head. "Just tell the…"

"Truth. I know, I've read the posters," she said scathingly. He almost laughed, would have, had the circumstances been vastly different.

"Here we are," he said, quite unnecessarily. She hardly heard him. She had withdrawn into herself, having been told by none other than her father that her thoughts blazed from her eyes like beacons when she was fired up, and she wouldn't mind preventing that. She didn't have anything to hide, but would prefer to retain a little control over the charade.

"Dr. Cavanaugh," Mathers said when she was seated. She couldn't help but glance at the mirror where she knew Woody was watching. Dragging her eyes back with some difficulty to the detective in front, she cleared her throat. "I'm glad you agreed to this interview."

_Did I have a choice? _she thought, wryly. "My pleasure."

"Just a follow up interview," he said lightly, and Jordan frowned, recognising the technique immediately. They would be light, friendly, cause you to let your guard down. She knew a few detectives who used it and was pleased to note that Woody was not one of them. He let the people he was interviewing know what he thought. He was honest. And she'd had to lie to him. "I'm sure that you're familiar with how that goes."

_Referring to how close the medical examiners office and the cops are, _she thought. _Clever._ She decided to play along.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah I am." She let a shred of warning slip into her voice. Mathers' head jerked involuntarily to the side – the game had begun.

"If you can just recap what you had done that day, just for the tape."

She eyed it, then let her eyes drift almost lazily back to him. "Around the time of the murder?"

"From two onwards," he said. She nodded.

"I went downtown to a café…"

He stopped her, asking for the name of it. She gave it and he nodded, having already written it down in their first interview.

"Grabbed some takeaway, brought it back to the morgue…"

"Where you gave half of it to a Lily Lebowski?"

"Yeah, its kind of a Friday afternoon tradition," she said dryly. "She normally comes."

"How unfortunate," he said. She cursed herself; she was giving too much away.

"So you came back to the morgue, then what?"

"Completed an autopsy, then did a couple of hours of paperwork," she said.

"It took you a couple of hours?"

"An hour and a half of stalling," she said. He did not smile.

"Then you got the call."

"Indeed," she said. "He told me that I should come down the old wharves."

"You didn't tell anyone where you were going?"

"I told Lily," she said.

"Miss Lebowski," he said. "But I mean, you didn't call the police? Which is what you should have done."

"I know. I thought I'd go down there and check it out, we wouldn't want to waste any of the police's time with pranks."

"Yet its okay to waste a medical examiners time. Your own."

"I was on my way home, anyway," she said.

"Convenient," he commented. "And don't you find it a little coincidental that you got the call? Not any other ME?"

"I do not think there was a shred of coincidence surrounding it. It was either Koreldy or…"

"Or who?"

"My brother."

"Of course," he said mildly. "So you went out there. What time was it?"

"About half past five, maybe?"

"You met your brother there. Before or after you saw the body?"

Something he said smashed into her wall and the memory of that evening spilled forth until she was gripped in it. She could smell the salt, the grime and smog that accompanied that part of the city. Could feel the wet seeping into her boots. Could see her father's body lying sprawled out on the ground.

"After," she whispered.

"Rewind," he said. "When you saw the body, what did you do?"

"I…" the memory clouded, it was a haze of shock and disbelief. "I don't know, I can't remember…its all just a grey mush…" She was having trouble getting the words out. Woody watched her eyes change, something akin to her behaviour of the night before. It signalled that she was not quite there, not exactly herself. It did not bode well in the current circumstances. He was so focussed on the events transpiring in front of him he did not notice the DA walk in and stand behind him, neck craning to see what was going on.

"What then?"

"I was on my way to New York," she said. "To the address my brother gave me."

"And then what?"

Jordan's head snapped up and she slammed back into herself. _Woody gave me Koreldy's address, _she would have to say, to tell the truth.

"Does it matter?" she asked, stalling.

"Yes."

"I don't think it does. By this time the murder had been committed. What happened after that doesn't really relate to this."

"Something to hide?" he asked. She gave him a disdainful look.

"I just want to get home, detective."

He sighed. "Fine," he conceded, knowing she was right and also sure she was lying, or concealing something. "Just tell me, how did you find Koreldy?"

She hesitated. "My brother had it," she said. "He knew where he was."

"How?"

"You'll have to ask him," she said.

"We would," he said. "If we could find him. He's evasive; I'll give him that. The fact that he doesn't legally exist makes it harder. Is there anything you can tell us about his whereabouts?"

"No," she said carefully. "I don't know where he is."

"You sound like you wish you did."

She looked at him, completely forgetting her 'control' conviction.

"Wouldn't you?" she said. "He's all I have."

"Do you know how stupid that sounds?" he said. "You barely know him!"

Her eyes blazed – it was as though a fire had been ignited. Woody could have groaned, he could only begin to imagine what she would say now she was aggravated.

However, it was a relieving change from that hopeless apathy she had been exuding lately.

"Maybe that is the point, detective. Now would you mind getting back to the subject?"

Renee too had noticed her sit up straighter, and felt a surge of triumph, which she quickly banished. _What had gotten into her? _She had gotten too involved with this case, far too involved. Was it her connection with the ME's office, as Hoyt had insinuated? Or was it just…humanity? She didn't know what to believe, but she knew Garret, and couldn't believe he would blindly trust her, without the shadow of a doubt, if she were guilty.

"I don't think we really left," Mathers commented, but conceded, jolting all three of them, Jordan, Woody and Renee, out of their respective thoughts and back into the present.

"What had your relations been with your father leading up to the murder?"

"Well there's a loaded question," she said, the anger that had begun to rise up clear in her tone. "We were just fine. Didn't have any roaringly violent fights, I didn't threaten to kill him, he didn't lose me my job or reject a boyfriend."

"Good to know," Mathers said coolly. "I hope you're taking this seriously."

"Well what the hell do you expect me to say?" she said, leaning forward. "That I hated him? Maybe that we were the best of friends, inseparable? We had our moments, but he is my father. I love him."

"Is there anyone who can…"

"Verify that?" she said savagely. "Sure. Everyone who knew us."

She stood. "I'm done here," she said. "Want to detain me?"

"As far as I know you are detained," he said. "If it was up to me you'd still be in the cell."

"Well don't I feel lucky that it isn't?" She stalked out, and was met by Woody who had a stony look on his face.

"What was that?"

"I think in some languages it's called an interview. Other languages refer to it as a farce."

"You should have kept your cool. He won that round, you know."

She rounded on him. "Round?" she asked. "Like a boxing match?" Her cheeks grew flushed. "I assure you, there are no rounds. This is not a game."

"I know!" he said incredulously. "I was making sure you knew!"

"Ehm."

Woody and Jordan whipped around in unison, both still intensely irritated. Renee could have laughed at the looks on their faces as they recognised her.

"You want to have a go?" she said, looking at the detective. The confusion on his face was priceless. "In there." She pointed with a thumb at the room Jordan had just vacated. Woody glanced at Jordan before nodding.

"Sure," he said, and stormed into the room, pulling the door closed with considerable force behind him.


	13. Fool's Game

**A/N: Aaw, I love you too, NadezhdaSt! Hahaha. :D Thanks for your wonderful review, yet again! Haha glad you love writing long ones! Orlando-crazy, Trickster's Queen Of War - thanks for the reviews! (Can't believe I'm up to 35 reviews! jumps up and down crazily haha) Ok well I'm starting to get a little confused, so Hardings suggestion of saying it all in a way everyone understands is for me as much as the characters haha. Anyway I'll do that next chapter! For now...I'm happy to flouder! Anyway, read on!**

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**Chapter 13: Fools' Game**

_You really need to hang around Jordan more. _Dr. Harding toyed with what the chief ME had said to her the day before. What had he meant? It didn't make sense. An expression of contempt tempered with amusement had crossed his face as their conversation had culminated, when she had told him there was nothing more that she could do.

Was he suggesting she do something more? Continue the investigation? The decedents body was not being released until Dr. Cavanaugh could make arrangements for the funeral, which she was probably already doing if she had any sense. So she had some time.

_Time to do what? _she asked herself. There really was nothing more she could do.

She glanced at her watch. It was about half past three in the afternoon – and she had finished her work for the day. Sighing she stood reluctantly and decided to stop procrastinating and just talk to the man.

"Dr Macy?" she said from his door. He looked up, and their conversation from the previous day came back to him, as well.

"Dr. Harding," he said, putting the book down that he was reading. "What can I do for you?"

"Yesterday you suggested that my work had not finished with the Cavanaugh case," she said. A bland look planted itself on the chief ME's face.

"I suggested nothing of the sort," he said in a tone that belied his words. She nodded, understanding his game. She was a master player of it herself.

"Okay," she conceded, choosing her words carefully. "That may be the case, but your words made me think. Which I suppose was the purpose of them. If Dr. Cavanaugh was not involved with her father's death, there has to be something connecting someone else. Seeing as Detective Mathers refuses to investigate other…avenues, I was thinking there might be something we can do."

"We?" was all Garret said.

"I was hoping you may be able to help me, being well acquainted with this city and its goings on behind the doors of the law enforcement agencies." Her lips twisted, realising how ridiculous she sounded. Macy raised an eyebrow, and nodded.

"Where should we start?"

------

"Good afternoon, Detective Hoyt," Mathers said drolly as the door clicked shut behind Woody.

"Detective Mathers," Woody said, inclining his head and sitting down.

"Just a couple of questions, regarding Dr. Cavanaugh."

"I gathered." Woody's voice was light, he was making an attempt at politeness even though he was still mildly riled at Jordan, and more than a little miffed at this trumped up detective.

"What sort of a relationship did Dr. Cavanaugh have with her father?"

_What sort f a question is that? _"A strong one," he said. "They'd do anything for each other."

"I see," Mathers said, eyeing the detective. "Did they fight?"

"Of course," he said. "I'd find it strange if they didn't."

"Did these fights ever get violent?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Not in my knowledge."

"And what is your knowledge, Detective?"

"I don't understand the question," he said slowly.

"How well did you know the two?"

"I've known them for about four years now," he said.

"Okay. And you spent time with them?"

"Obviously Dr. Cavanaugh more than her father, because we work together regularly. But I, as with her other colleagues, all frequent the bar that Max used to own."

"The Pogue."

"You've done your homework." He could not resist a dig. Mathers didn't bat an eyelid.

"Okay," he said, signalling a change in the direction of the interview. "Can you take me through the motions of the day of the murder? From when you got the call."

"I was at the morgue, actually."

"What were you doing there?"

"Picking up some paperwork from Dr. Cavanaugh on the Mitchell murder." That case seemed so long ago, so damn removed from this when in reality it was only a few days.

"Did you get the paperwork?"

"No. She was gone."

"Did you know where?"

"No. Lily…Miss Lebowski told me she was out on a call."

"Then what?"

"I was in Dr. Macy's office when my phone rang. I hung up and said there had been a murder at the old Boston wharves, and asked Dr. Macy if he'd like to come, to save him the trip, as he would have been called to it anyway. I said it was at the wharves and Lily said that was where Jor…Dr. Cavanaugh said she was going."

"So you knew she would be there."

"I didn't know what to think. I didn't know how she could have gotten the call before the police."

"Even though you were under the impression that Dr. Cavanaugh was there, Dr. Macy went with you?"

"Yes."

Something obviously dawned on Mathers. "You feared the worst."

"Like I said I didn't know what to think. We went there. End of story."

"Not quite," Mathers said, but let it go. "What happened when you arrived?"

"It was getting dark. We arrived at the wharves, and saw Jordan."

"Dr. Cavanaugh."

"Her too," Woody said irritably. Mathers frowned. "We saw the body and Dr. Macy ran over to see if he was alive. Uniforms were beginning to arrive."

"What was your initial thought, when you saw Dr. Cavanaugh standing over her father's body?"

"I didn't know what to think, what to do."

"At any time, did it cross your mind that she had killed her father?"

Woody paused, and the pause was agony for the ME listening outside. "No," he said with complete surety.

"Not at all?"

"Never. There is no way."

Mathers cleared his throat. "Do you think your judgement is clouded? Then and even now?"

Woody stared at him. "By what?"

"Your relationship with Dr. Cavanaugh." Woody frowned. Mathers sighed. "Can you define your relationship with her?"

"I…" For the first time in the interview he was uncertain. "What exactly do you mean, detective?" He was stalling. Jordan looked on from behind the window, wondering what he would say. Wondering what she would say.

"Just answer the question."

"We have been friends for four years," he said. "We're close. But this only strengthens my judgement. I know her, and I know she is not capable of murder."

"You're a cop, Hoyt. You've listened to the family and friends of murderers swear on their lives that their loved ones could not possibly have committed murder. You have seen what these people can be capable of."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"At any time, any time at all, did you doubt her?"

"No," he said.

Renee stood slightly behind Jordan, watching all three of them. Mathers was obviously doing his best to get a reaction out of the young detective, who was obviously doing _his _best to keep his cool. He was doing a fine job of it, too. Jordan was standing, leaning forward, and listening intently. She had squirmed a little when Mathers had asked about their relationship, but aside from that had been still. Renee did not know what to think. Turning, she decided a trip to the morgue was probably a little overdue.

"What was Dr. Cavanaugh's frame of mind when you arrived on the scene?"

Woody thought back. "Shocked," he said. "I've never seen her so blank, confused. She hardly recognised us. Did not say a word, not until Dr. Macy tried to talk to her. She snapped, and ran off to her car."

"What did you do?"

"We waited until the investigation was set in order and followed her."

"Followed her? How did you know where she would go?"

"We didn't know for sure," he said. "We figured she'd go to her apartment."

"And did she?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Lets fast forward a little bit. You and Dr. Macy ended up in New York. How did you know where she was?"

Woody shifted. How could he say she asked for the file? Even if he didn't care about the mess it would get him into, how could he go against what Jordan had said?

"This doesn't relate to the murder," Woody said. "You're right, I am a cop. I know how far an interview is supposed to go."

"Fine," Mathers said, standing up abruptly. Jordan and Woody both breathed a sigh of relief. "Keep in mind that I am a cop, too. I can be the difference between life or 20 years for your…friend."

His voice sent a chill down Jordan's spine and she was glad when he left the room. Woody stood and met her outside. His face was hard, and he didn't look at her as they left the precinct and drove home. Jordan stared out of the window of the car, not seeing anything. The fire had been lit; she would not sit idly by while Mathers worked to throw her in the slammer. She realised that there was too much doubt to send her to prison for life, but with a bit of work on Mathers' and the DA's part, she _could _get twenty years. But that wasn't even the issue, not to her. She didn't care whether she got twenty years or five. It was the injustice of it. Koreldy killed her father; there was no doubt in her mind of that. He had confessed, after all. She'd be damned if she copped the rap for something she didn't do.

------

Harding sat at her desk, tapping away at her computer. The file on Jack Koreldy had been closed to all but authorised police personnel – and they didn't exactly have a multitude of them floating around the morgue. So she was trying to hack into the database, against her better judgement, and failing miserably. She'd always considered herself pretty handy with a computer, but then again she had never tried to commit a crime with one, so could afford to cut herself a little slack.

"Need a hand love?"

She looked up and a tall man she recognised as a Dr. Townsend grinned down at her from the door.

"Macy's orders," he shrugged. She smiled weakly back and conceded defeat, thinking that he wouldn't be able to accomplish any more than she had, but willing to give the man a shot.

"Hope you have better luck than I do," she said, standing. He wriggled around her sat in her chair, surveying the situation.

"No, no, no," he muttered. "You're going about it in the wrong way."

"I see," Harding said, mildly amused, and watched as the man tapped away frantically. With a last triumphant hit on what she thought was the 'enter' button, he sat back in the chair and looked up at her.

"There you go," he said, standing. She frowned and rushed to the screen, seeing that he had indeed unlocked the case file.

"How did you…"

"All in a day's work," he said cryptically. "I'll give you some tips if you're sticking around."

His cheek was infectious and Harding couldn't help but grin back at him. "Thanks," she said gratefully.

"No problem, love. Though next time, why don't you just ask a cop?"

He shook his head, amused, and left the room, Harding staring in wonder after him. She sat back down at her desk and studied the file. In mid-September 1979, Detective Max Cavanaugh was working on cracking through a drug ring, the prime suspect being Jack Koreldy, and the couple Thomas and Rebecca McKinley. All had been testified against, though not by Cavanaugh.

She was spared further procrastination when Dr. Macy rapped lightly on her door and walked in.

"Do you have the file?"

She smiled. "Thanks to your lackey," she said, jesting.

Garret chuckled. "Don't let him hear you say that."

She grinned again. "It doesn't add up, though," she said.

"Why not?"

She looked back to the screen. "Max Cavanaugh was investigating this suspected drug ring. Had been for months, since the April of '79. But, when they were eventually arrested it was not by Cavanaugh, but by another detective. Likewise, when the time came to testify against them in court, later that month, it was not Cavanaugh who did the testifying, as you would expect. And it wasn't even as if he didn't care about the case, there was a report filed here that…"

"His wife was murdered around that time," he said. "He wouldn't have been there, wouldn't have continued."

Harding held his gaze. "I see," she says. "That explains a lot."

"Mm."

"Apparently Koreldy was under suspicion of a few murders relating to the ring," she said. He nodded.

"Let me guess. Max was trying to pin him?"

"Yeah. Trying real hard, according to this."

"Well there's motive," he said. But she shook her head.

"Why, after all this time? He got out of jail in 1996. Why wait?"

Garret shrugged. "Needed to look for Max."

"But it all happened here, in Boston. From what's here, and what we know, he didn't move around much. He only left the force a few years ago. He would not be that hard to trace, especially for someone who semi-knew him. And its not even as though there were no relatives to track him through."

Macy was silent, and Harding watched the thoughts flit across his face.

She ventured a thought. "Is it possible that Dr. Cavanaugh knows more than we do?"

"I'd say so," he said. "Certainly possible."

"Maybe we should talk to her…"

"No," he said quickly.

"Why?"

"I'll talk to her. Later. After work."

Harding didn't press it any further, but could not help wondering if there were more between the two than an employer/employee relationship. She shook her head; it wasn't really of any consequence, not yet, anyway.

"Should I talk to Mathers?"

"I don't know," he said, still deep in thought. "From the few cases I've worked with him, he's not exactly the biggest gossiper about a case."

"Maybe if I say we have something knew on the case?"

"Lie?" Garret said, eyes meeting hers.

"No," she said. "Mislead."

"He'll figure it out."

She sighed. "What, then? We're not exactly doing much just sitting here."

"We need to fine out if Koreldy was in Boston."

"That's stating the obvious, don't you think?"

Garret merely sent her a blank stare. "What can possibly put Koreldy at that scene? There's nothing there, or on the body."

Harding stood up and looked out the window. "This whole thing is a mess of jumbled facts and figures," she said. "We need to have it out there, in something we can all get our heads around."

"Sounds like a plan," a voice from the door said. Both their heads snapped around, to the amusement of their guest, Renee Walcott.

"Miss Walcott," Garret said in a strange voice – at least to Dr. Harding's ears – and stood.

"Dr. Macy," she said in greeting. "I think it's about time you and I had a chat, don't you think?"

"I do," he said quickly, and glanced at Harding. "We'll continue this discussion later."

"What do you want me to do now?"

He surveyed her. "Go home," he said, and followed the district attorney out. She sighed in exasperation and made ready to leave. The whole lot of them were mad!

-------

"What brings you here, Renee?" Garret said once they were seated in his office.

"Oh you know. Long time no…smell."

"Yes, the smell of decay can be quite alluring at times," he said. "We do try to contain it in the autopsy suites, though."

"I'm sure you do," she said, wrinkling her nose, not being able to smell anything but imagining the scent if she could. The thought came to her yet again, _how do these people do this every day? _"I need to know what you know," she said.

"Why?" he merely asked.

"Because I don't believe that it is a cut and dry as Mathers is making it out to be."

"I hardly see how accusing a respected medical examiner is 'cut and dry', Renee."

"Respected?" she said. "Is that what they call it these days?" There was the hint of a smile on her face, but Garret ignored the obvious jest of the comment and focussed on the bluntness of it.

"Its what I call it."

"Right," she said. "Look, I just want to…"

"Rub our faces in it? Tell her that you 'told her so'? Tell me that you told us all so?"

"That one day your escapades would land you in the frying pan? Sure. I told you so."

"Thank you for your input," he said wryly. "What are you really doing here?"

"The truth?"

"It would be appreciated."

"I'm checking up on you."

"Ah, of course."

"So how're you doing, Garret?" The use of his first name suggested informal, light, chatty, but the glint in her eyes told a whole different story.

"I'm more prepared to believe your first story," he said.

"Okay," she said. "You choose."

He looked away. "Stop playing games."

"Getting to old for them?"

"That's one way of putting it," he said, meeting her eyes again. "Look, I don't know any more than you do. Koreldy is the number one suspect in my mind."

"Great, case closed," she said dryly. "I want to believe you, but history suggests I don't."

"History?" he exploded. "When has she committed murder?"

"She's certainly been a suspect before," she said. "And there's no denying she sometimes loses sight of the rails."

"Yours or hers?" he murmured. She ignored it.

"You can't tell me you believe her beyond a doubt."

"I believe I just did."

"No doubt in your mind."

"Nope," he said in a tight voice.

"Well you're as much of a fool as Hoyt is," she said. "There always has to be some doubt, always."

"Not this time," he said. "I can't believe you think she is capable of murder." He stopped, rethinking it. "No, wait. I can, of course I can. You're always so quick to jump to a negative conclusion about her."

"And you're always so quick to defend her!" she said loudly, angered.

"Have I ever been wrong?"

She looked away. "This is not getting us anywhere," she said. He wholeheartedly agreed. She sighed. "Mathers is ready to close up the investigation and hand it over to the courts," she said. "If you're so sure it was someone else…"

"Koreldy," he interjected.

"…then you better do something. Fast."

"Suddenly you're on our side."

"I am on no one's side," she countered. "I merely want…"

"What, justice?" he said loudly, staring at her. She read the anger in his eyes.

"Yeah," she said icily. "That would work."


	14. I Hate To Say I Told You So

**A/N: Haha yeah I update fast because its the school holidays and I really have nothing else to do! lol. Thanks again for the great reviews guys! I love reading them! Wooh! (Question - are these chapters to long? Should I break them up a little more?)**

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**Chapter 14: "I Hate To Say I Told You So…"**

A knocking on the door startled Jordan – right before scaring her to death. A flood of panic washed over her, and the colour drained from her face. She was lucky Woody was too indignant – they were watching that program again – to notice, as he jumped up, still distracted and opened the door. Jordan could only sit, paralysed, and wonder who it could be.

_Not James, _she pleaded over and over, and was rewarded with the sound of Garret's voice.

"I hope I'm not disturbing anything," he said.

"Not at all," Woody replied, standing aside. Garret looked over to the couch where Jordan was sitting, staring at him with wide eyes. She was obviously just calming down from a fright and Garret wondered for the first time just how much this whole mess was affecting her.

"We need to talk."

"Do I need to listen?"

Woody suddenly felt very left out, as the two doctors stared at one another, communicating something very unreadable to each other.

"Probably not," she said, still staring into her boss's eyes.

"Ok," he conceded, flopping down on the couch.

"Lets go grab a bite," he said. She nodded, looking to Woody.

"If its ok with my prison warden."

He sent her an unreadable look. "Don't let her out of your sight," he said to Garret. "Its really more than my job's worth to lose her."

"Glad to know where your priorities stand," Jordan said, not entirely in jest. She grabbed her coat, waved at the detective and followed her boss out of the door.

"Again with the attorney part!" she heard him yell as the closing credits rolled. She suppressed a laugh and stepped out into the cool air.

"How are you holding up?"

"Alright, under the circumstances." She shot him a surreptitious glance. "And you?"

"I'm not the issue."

"Everyone is the issue, Garret," she said, climbing into his car. He made a noise in his throat and started up the car.

They drove to a small Italian restaurant in a side street a few blocks away from her apartment.

"Ever been here?" Garret queried. She shook her head.

"Looks nice."

"More importantly, smells nice," he said, and she chuckled.

"Of course."

They were seated and wine was brought.

"So," Garret said, looking at her.

"So indeed," she said. He smiled.

"I would have thought you'd prefer the cell to the other deal," he said. "You don't like being watched."

"I'd rather be watched in my own home than in a cell."

"Mm," he said, picking up the menu and looking at it. "So tell me. What have you told Mathers?"

She looked at him. "The truth."

"The whole truth?"

"And nothing but the truth," she said wryly, deflecting.

"I'm serious, Jordan," he said.

"I am as well," she said. "You know how it is, there are some things you should never tell the cops."

"Even Woody?"

"Especially Woody," she said.

"How about an old friend?"

"Off the record?" she asked.

"Of course."

"I helped him escape."

"James."

"Yeah."

"It's obviously eating at you."

She was spared answer by the waiter coming to take their order.

"Do you think he was involved?"

"He probably led Koreldy to him," she said.

"On purpose?"

"No. Koreldy was tailing him, Garret. You know what he said?"

"What?"

"That he was responsible for all the 'dangerous cases' that seemed to be attracted to my desk."

"Ridiculous," Garret dismissed it. "You know how it goes, he wanted more power."

"But how did he know?"

"I don't know, Jordan. Some of the extra-dangerous ones have been publicised…" he trailed off. "He was just bluffing."

"Mm," she said.

"Why was Koreldy tailing James? And more importantly, how did he find out who he was?"

"Because he was tailing me first. He wanted to make Dad suffer."

"Instead he made you suffer," he said. They were silent.

"Why did you follow?" she asked in a small voice. He looked at her.

"What did you expect?"

"It was unprecedented," she said. "You've never…"

"Your father was never killed before."

"Did you think I had done it?" she asked tentatively, not sure if she really wanted to hear the answer.

"No," he said immediately. "Never."

She looked down at her hands.

"That means a lot," she said with feeling. He nodded.

"So what are we going to do about it?"

She looked at him. "Do what we do best," she said simply. "Nail a murderer."

"You said before we should get it 'out on the table' right?"

Harding's head snapped up from where it had been resting on the desk. She was tired, but had not taken Garret's advice. Instead she was pulling all the information she could possibly obtain on everyone even remotely involved in this.

"Renee," she said. "You were right."

"About what?" the district attorney said, walking in.

"This is a tough position," she said grimly. "Your description of these people was right on the mark."

"Hate to say I told you so but…"

"Yeah, yeah, I stand corrected," Harding said irritably, then changed her tone. "I really didn't know what I was getting myself into when you handed me this job."

"No one does," she said, with the hint of a smile in her eyes. "I think we should pay a visit to Dr. Cavanaugh, don't you think?"

"Shouldn't we call Dr. Macy?"

"If I know him, and I do, he's probably already there."

"He did mention that he might go tonight."

"There you go. Then we can talk to everyone involved, have a cops view, three medical opinions and one legal one. We can't lose."

"I suppose it's worth a try," she shrugged.

"You let them go?"

Woody cringed. Of all the times she could have shown up, Renee chose now to do so. Now, when he had pretty much broken a few laws.

"She's with Dr. Macy," he tried to explain. Renee pushed her way in, a doctor Woody only barely recognised following, look of distaste on her face, as if she did not want to be here. Makes two of us, he thought grimly.

"So you said," The DA said angrily. "Did you even think?"

"Of course," he said. "I have complete faith in them both."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, well then, that makes _all _the difference."

"Is there a problem?"

Woody sighed with relief as Jordan and Dr. Macy came into view, surveying the situation.

"You were supposed to be in the company of…"

"Well as you can see I did not run off, nor have I consorted with any villains, fugitives or murderers. So can we just get on with it? I assume you aren't here just to check up on me."

Jordan looked at Harding, as if only just noticing her. "Evening, Dr. Harding."

Harding looked in wonder as this condemned woman (she grinned inwardly at the description) took charge of the situation. There were four people, all higher ranking than her standing in her apartment, demanding answers, and she took it all in her stride, with barley a bat of her eyelids. She closed the door behind her and her boss, and turned back to them.

"What can I do for you ladies?"

In using that word she effectively put them in their place. They were in _her_ home, they would play_ her_ game, and she would call the shots. No one else. Harding looked at Garret and Woody, who were both obviously thinking along the same lines, and barely containing their grins as Renee and Jordan stared it out. Predictably, Jordan won, as Renee dropped her eyes momentarily.

"We're here to help," Dr. Harding interjected. "We figured you could probably do with it."

Jordan's eyes turned to the newcomer, surveying her. Deciding she was genuine, she smiled sadly. "I'd say you're right," she said. "Whisky anyone?"

When they were seated, each nursing a clear crystal glass of some form of alcoholic beverage, they stared at one another.

"How much time do we have?" Woody asked no one in particular.

"Depends on what we're trying to accomplish, Woodrow. Maybe we should focus on that first," Jordan suggested. He looked at the ceiling, trying not to laugh. She was so obviously mocking Renee or Harding, or even both, it was hard for Woody to keep a straight face.

"What are we doing?" Garret asked, looking at each of them in turn. "They always taught us to identify the reason for contemplation before contemplating."

"What a concept," Jordan said. "I should have gone to your school. Where did you go again?"

"Boston Central Pre-school," he said, not missing a beat, getting a laugh out of the detective. Jordan smiled indulgently then wiped her face clean of expression.

"Enough," Renee said. "We don't have all night."

"See I told you time was of the essence," Woody said, ignoring the cold stare he was receiving from the DA.

"Seeing as everyone else seems perfectly happy with skirting around the issue, how about I just say it. Hmm? A man is dead and Jordan here is about to go down for it.

"We've all dealt with situations like this before. We play cops and robbers every day. This is just a little different."  
Renee stared at Garret. "This isn't exactly what I had planned…"

"What had you planned? To ask me questions? Interrogate me?" Jordan's eyes were blazing. "Maybe you just wanted to offer your legal opinion? You've jumped in the deep end now."

Renee looked at Jordan, momentarily unsettled.

"Thanks for the warning," she said. "Now I have one for you."

Harding was watching this exchange with interest. She knew Renee, had known her for a long while, they considered each other friends. And she was beginning to see why the two clashed. Same strength of will, same bloody-mindedness. She looked around. It was like an arena. Dr. Macy and Detective Hoyt were also watching the interchange with apparent amusement, exchanging a glance now and then, with each other and her. Harding looked back to the boxers.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"If you don't smarten up your act, Mathers _will _get a conviction. You've never seen him in a courtroom. He is more convincing than a prosecutor with years of legal training. You keep being a smartass, do you realise how dishonest you sound? Even when you're telling the truth you sound like you have some big conspiracy to hide!"

"Well what do you suggest I do?" she retorted, shaken. She was absolutely right; as much as the ME was loathe to admit it.

"I suggest you hire a couple of good lawyers, get a defence."

"Get a defence," she echoed. "That's it? Sit around and wait for a jury to decide whether I killed my father or not?"

She was nearly shouting now, and the amused looks had left Woody and Garret's faces. Harding narrowed her eyes, wondering how this little chat would go.

"That's all you can do, Jordan! Don't you get it? Its not up to you anymore."

"That's right. Its up to people who don't know me to decide whether I am a murderer or not, based on the testimony of a bias detective!"

"Alright then, what do you propose?"

"I propose we nail Koreldy," she said.

"Ah, of course, why didn't anyone else think of that?"

Jordan sent her a level stare, which Renee returned in kind.

"All right, children," Woody broke in uncertainly. Harding sent him a grateful glance, which he puzzled over.

"Why did you come?" Jordan asked.

"I don't know, in truth. Dr. Harding here said we should put all our cards on the table."

"Great. Cards. Another game of chance."

"Life can't always be a certainty," Garret said quietly.

"Who wants a venture a suggestion?" Harding said, trying to restore some semblance of order.

"Pizza?" Woody ventured. Jordan laughed.

"I'll second that," she said, looking around at the others, mood lightening. "Supreme?"

"We've already eaten, Jordan," Garret said.

"Yes," she replied, phone in hand. "So you're not up for it?"

"Of course," he scoffed. "Just reminding you."

"So," Harding said when the pizza had arrived. "I'm guessing we all know a different story, a different set of facts. Normally when solving a jigsaw puzzle you need all the pieces…"

"Oh god, more metaphors," Jordan muttered, causing them all to laugh, before gesturing for Harding to continue.

"And I believe that we here in this room have most of them."

"Most?"

"Some are gone, lost. With Max and Koreldy."

They looked at her, knowing she was right. "We can only hypothesise as to what their pieces held, in order to make our own fit."

"But why make the puzzle at all? Why not just throw away the pieces and forget it?"

"Because this is not a jigsaw puzzle," she said. "And more than just the want to look at a pretty picture rides on it."

"Nice analogy," Jordan muttered. "First it's a puzzle and now you tell me it isn't…"

"So, if you're so intent on the puzzle metaphor," Garret began. "Who starts?"

"You, of course," Harding said, looking at Jordan. She nodded.

"You know all I know," she shrugged.

"No," she said. "There are things you can tell us…things only you know."

Garret sensed how uncomfortable Jordan was. "Maybe we can come back to that," he said. "Why don't you begin? You're in with Mathers aren't you?"

That both Woody and Jordan stiffened at the mention of the detectives name none of them missed.

"In?" Harding asked, amused, but carried on anyway. "I've said this before. He doesn't want to investigate any other avenue. Not Koreldy, and certainly not…"

"James," Jordan broke in.

"Yes. To tell the truth, I don't think he really believes that he exists."

"But Woody said…"

"Do you think he's going to take anything either of you say seriously?" she asked.

"Why shouldn't he?" the detective spluttered. "What does he think…"

"Cool it tiger," Jordan said, putting a hand on his arm. "She's right."

Garret and Harding both noted the gesture and noted the effect – which was indeed the desired one of the perpetrator. Before they could contemplate any further on it's meaning, she spoke again.

"So what does that mean for us?"

"It means he doesn't believe you."

"No, you think?" Jordan said wearily.

"Which means its up to us," Woody said.

"No!" Renee interjected. "What is this?"

"This is a throwing around of suggestions," Harding said, looking at her. The DA shook her head and looked away, with the air of someone who was being held against her will.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "I have no idea what I'm doing here."

They ignored her.

"The only thing they have is the hair," Harding continued. "It isn't exactly damning evidence."

"If we could prove you weren't there," Macy said, looking at Jordan. Harding regarded him.

"How? She said she was driving around, clearing her head."

"Yeah," Jordan confirmed unhappily.

"Where did you drive?"

"Nowhere that might provide an alibi," she said.

"Any traffic lights?"

"None of the security camera ones. You think I haven't been through it enough? There's no way of proving I was not there. For all you lot know, I could have been."

Garret's eyes flickered to Renee, who was watching them with a wolfish expression.

"Don't start this again Jordan," he warned in an undertone. Woody looked at her. Under the fiery 'wanting to prove herself innocent' look, he could see a hint of the helplessness and weariness that had been dominant before. He never wanted to see that look again, not on her.

"Fine," she said. "But everything still stands."

There was an awkward pause when everything was up in the air and the five adults stared at each other helplessly.

"We've proved so many countless people innocent and guilty over the years," Woody said quietly, with a look on his face that made the three women in the room go weak at the knees. "Why can't we do it now? Tonight?"  
"If it helps we could treat it as an objective case. We may just get somewhere," Garret ventured. The others nodded. "So we have a victim. Three suspects we can't rule out."

"We can rule out…" Woody began defensively.

"Objective, Woody," Jordan butted in. "He's right. If this were a real case I wouldn't be ruled out."

"This is a real case," Renee muttered.

"Not for tonight," Jordan said. Again they had a miniature staring match, which none were prepared to break from. Woody got their attention.

"Because we are good law enforcement people," he said, making them all smile. "We will focus on all three."

"So we've focussed as far as we can on the daughter," Jordan said, loving the idea of making it impersonal.

"Good. So who's next?"

"The one we don't believe did it," she said.

"Who would that be?"

"James," Garret said.

"Yeah," Jordan agreed.

"Why don't you think he did it? Objectively."

She shifted. "This isn't exactly objective," she began, but Harding cut through her.

"It can't be completely objective," she said. "There's no way. Just as objective as we can."

She nodded. "He was there," she said. "At the scene. He…" she paused, staring at the floor, frowning in concentration. She had forgotten they were there, was just talking it through to help herself.

"He put a hand over my mouth, so I wouldn't scream I guess. Like I could scream."

Garret and Woody exchanged a glance.

"I didn't comprehend that he was there. It was only until a little later that I realised he was supposed to be dead. He told me he knew who killed him."

"But how could he have, if he told you to…" Woody broke off sharply, only just managing to avoid sending a guilty look at Renee."

Jordan looked around. Woody saved the situation.

"Toilet break," he said. "Want to point me in the right direction, Jordan?"

"Sure!" she said brightly, and they both stood up, walking out of earshot.

"What do we do?" she hissed. "They can't know you helped me or it'll be your ass on the line."

He gave her a funny look. "But if we can't talk it through, you may not…"

"I'm not going to risk your job on the proviso that they may be able to come to some sort of conclusion about…" she trailed off. "It's not going to happen."

"Then what?"

"Then its up to you and I. If we can't tell them the truth, we can figure out something on our own."

"Garret knows."

"Great," she muttered. "There's all three of us sticking our necks on the chopping block."

"I thought you didn't like metaphors?"

She grinned weakly. "Okay. Lets go back there and…"

"Tell Renee where to stick it?"

She sent him a sideways look. "I was going to say politely ask them to leave, but your way works," she said. "Just down there," she said loudly.

"Thanks," he replied. She nodded at him and walked back to the gathering.

"Detectives and their coffee," she shrugged.


	15. It Doesn't Work That Way

**A/N: Hey NadezhdaSt! Holidays for another eight days! lol. You are actually the one who is keeping these chapters coming so fast - I see your review and I want to reply to it quickly, haha. So these authors notes are really the most important part! Hehe. Aw sorry for ending their little discussion session - it was drying up and so was I lol. But you know, they could pick it up somewhere in the future, I anticipate that they'll need to 'talk things through' after the events of this chapter...ok I like this length too so its all good! lol. Ah no problem - I loved your story!**

**Thanks Orlando-crazy, yet again. :D**

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**Chapter 15: It Doesn't Work That Way**

Jordan could hardly contain her sigh of relief once they had managed to get Harding and Renee out of her house. Garret had stayed long enough for them to confirm the reason of their discomfort, and give her a reassuring pat before following them out, promising he would come back the next day.

"Do you have to go to work tomorrow?" she asked. Woody gave her a startled look then burst out laughing.

"What?" she asked, disgruntled. "What's funny?"

He stared at her. "I shouldn't say," he said, mirth still written on his face.

"You've had to much to drink. Go to bed."

Instead of making him stop, that comment just dragged more raucous laughter out of the semi-drunk detective.

"What?" she demanded, shaking him.

"I shouldn't say," he repeated.

"Oh you'll say," she said, only half-serious. He grinned.

"Think about it," he said. " 'Are you going to work tomorrow' and 'you've had too much to drink, go to bed?'"

There was a puzzled look on her face as she steered him into the bedroom. "You have the bed tonight."

"Oh, you broke the chain!" he said. He was, in fact, not all that drunk, but the alcohol he had consumed mixed with the headache tablets he had taken and the complete weariness that had overtaken him had caused him to lose his 'better judgement' as he would have called it.

"Chain?" she asked, bewildered. "What on earth are you talking about?"

He couldn't speak, so he shook his head. "Hey," he said, looking around. "What are we doing in your room?"

"You're going to bed."

"I'm not tired," he said suggestively.

"I am," she said. He looked at her.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and gave him a shove. He fell back on the bed.

"Night, Woodrow," she said, turning and closing the door behind her.

"What a woman," he mumbled, before falling into a deep sleep.

She waited fifteen minutes before she left the apartment, just to make sure he was asleep. She would have to count on her knowledge of the detectives sleeping habits, which wasn't all that vast, to hope that he didn't waken before she returned.

Her reasoning was that if Koreldy had been there, watching them, he would have to have stayed somewhere. The city was too big for her to begin her search here, so she had decided to go back to New York City. She still remembered Koreldy's address, how could she forget?

Ignoring the risk that Woody might wake up at the sound of the ignition, she turned her car on and drove off into the night.

A couple of hours later she had pulled up outside the house. It was just coming up to 1am on Wednesday morning. The silence was deafening as she stepped out of her car and carefully made her way up the path. There was no sign of anyone around, no lights illuminating windows in the house.

She was calm, had really taken the whole 'objective' thing to heart. This was just another case, just another hunch she had. Just another unconventional means of solving the case. Or in this instance, proving it.

She hadn't counted on not being able to get inside.

--------

Had Jordan known more about Woody, she would have known about his knack for being able to sleep extremely lightly. After he had slept of the intense tiredness, alcohol and paracetamol in his body, he emerged from the deep state of sleep the ME had left him in, and slept, not fitfully, but certainly lightly and in a state of semi-awareness. Hence, he was wide awake when the perverted couple next door broke off their love making and decided to start throwing perishable objects at each other. He sat up, and, not being able to discern where the noise had originated, got up and began to prowl around the apartment. A feeling of panic intensified in his gut when he realised that the woman he was supposed to be guarding had gone. Rushing to the window he stared out, and cursed loudly at the absence of her car. He picked up his cell phone off the coffee table and dialled her number.

"Pick up," he muttered through gritted teeth.

And pick up she did.

"Hey Woody," she said brightly. Woody scowled, breathing a sigh of relief that she was indeed able to answer a phone, therefore probably all right.

"Where the hell are you?" he growled.

"Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed," she said. "Which brings me to my question, what are you doing up?"

"What are you doing out?" he demanded.

"It's an old habit of mine," she said quickly. She was cursing herself over and over in her mind, she should have been prepared for him to wake up, should have been doing something. As it was, she had almost given up; she was not going to break a window in case there was a security system or the cops passed by. So she was getting a lecture for nothing, really.

"What, scaring the hell outta me?"  
As she realised the true reason for his grouchiness she softened. "I can look after myself," she said, just short of stiffly.

"How many times have you told me that, Jordan, and how many times have you been wrong?"

"None," she said in a hard voice. "I'm not a child."

He started, remembering the night before, playing it over and over in his mind.

_Where's Daddy? _The pitiful voice asked. _Is Daddy working late?_

"Come home," he said, a little shaken.

"I can't," she said.

_Mama said Daddy's job is dangerous._

He rubbed his hand along his forehead, his own personal nervous habit.

"Where are you?" he pleaded.

"I'm taking a walk," she said.

_Mama is dead too._

"Like hell you are. Your cars gone."

"A drive, then."

"Where are you, Jordan?"

_I should help James._

"No!"

"No…what? Woody?"

"Tell me where you are!"

She sighed. "You're going to hate me," she warned.

"I won't hate you, don't be silly."

_Who will look after me now?_

"I'm in New York City," she said.

Woody squeezed his eyes shut.

"Damn it!" he yelled, not really being able to pin the real reason for his anger. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was going to be home by morning. I could have explained then."

"Sure," he said icily. "You were going to lie."

"I wasn't, Woody, I…"

"Save it. Get in your car and drive home."

"No."

Woody thought quickly. "Then stay right there. Get in your car, lock the doors. I will come and we can do whatever it is you want to do together. You're at Koreldy's, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said reluctantly. "Look. You shouldn't come. Just let me do what I have to do and I'll be home by morning. There are some things you can't know." She stopped, thinking how much she sounded like her father. "I have to go," she choked, throat constricting. "I'll stay here." She shut off her phone and threw it to the ground. She had been sitting on Koreldy's step, head in hands, when her phone had rang, nearly scaring her to death.

If she thought the ring had given her a fright, she knew she was sorely mistaken when a distinctly male voice yelled, "Who's there?"

She jumped to her feet, staring around wildly. She was so frozen she didn't even have time to hide, so had to watch numbly as the door opened and her brother stood there, bewildered and looking just as pale and terrified as she.

"James!" she said, half-relieved. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Long time no see," he said drolly before beckoning her inside. She did so, completely forgetting her phone lying on the lawn.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated when they were inside.

"I could ask you that," he said. "But I think I know what you would say, as I am doing the same thing."

"I thought you were going to stick around before," she said. He looked at her.

"I didn't think it was advisable under the circumstances," he told her, and she nodded. "I'm here to prove that he…"

"Murdered your father, I know."

"You do?"

"Well I guessed."

"As good as," she agreed. "Listen, a cop is going to be here in about…" She looked at her watch. "2 and a half hours."

"What?" he hissed. "You should have come alone."

"I'm in custody, James," she said. "I tried to."

"So you told him where you were?"

"I had to do that, too."

"Uh huh," he said in a tone of evident disbelief. "How did we end up here, Jordan? Right now? In this little house, me on the run from the law, you with no left in your family but me? And a fat lot of good I am doing. I just wish I could do something!"

"How did this happen?" she echoed. "I'll tell you how. Because we did all we could. We did our best. In the end, that's really all we can do."

He shook his head. "If this is where our best gets us, I shudder to think what our worst could bring."

"Probably the same as this. Every action had a reaction, we're just suffering the consequences of our…"

"Our actions?" he said loudly. "Ours, huh? Damn it, Jordan, it wasn't our fault!"

"We have to take responsibility for ourselves, James."

"It wasn't our fault," he repeated. "If she hadn't…"

"It is most definitely not her fault," Jordan said, jumping to her mother's defence. "We can't blame anyone for this. It's just a…"

"Big mess, out of anyone's control?"

"I didn't say that."

"You were about to."

"It is never out of our control," she said, voice growing stronger in her conviction.

"I'm sick of running," he said after a pause. "Let your cop find me."

"James…" she warned.

"Don't," he said. "I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I. Lets find something."

"Something?" he asked, mildly. "I'm kinda new to this. What exactly are we looking for?"

"Something that puts Koreldy in Boston."

"Ah."

There was nothing, predictably. He had covered his tracks well. Jordan sunk down next to the couch.

"Does it seem weird to you that this house is…"

"Normal?" she finished.

"Yeah," he said.

"No more surprising than finding your house to be so."

This quietened him. "This whole thing is weird, hey?"

"Only if you let yourself think about it," she said.

"Mm." He sat down beside her. "Maybe we should talk?"

"Talk how?" she asked. Her eyes were closed. She was tired, but would not recognise it, thinking if she didn't acknowledge the fact then it wasn't there – one of her sub-philosophies in life.

"I don't know. Catch up on 35 years of small talk?"

She laughed. "Wasn't that storm terrible in 1986?" she laughed. He grinned back.

"Awful," he agreed. He couldn't even be bothered to add up how old he was in 1986, let alone where he was living at the time.

"Do you think he was following us?"

"I'd count on it."

"Then there has to be something. Something that puts him in Boston, for even the remotest of reasons. At least then I'd be able to get them to investigate the possibility."

"Aren't you friends with all of them anyway?" her brother asked with just the tiniest hint of bitterness.

"Doesn't work that way," she said. "This one is stubborn."

"Hm."

"You should, by rights, be a suspect as well. But seeing as you…"

"Don't exist?"

She laughed. "Yeah, there is that."

"So the testimony of two cops doesn't change anything?"

"Of course it does, formally." She paused. "Your memory is good, remembering that there were two of them."

"A man and a woman," he confirmed. She nodded. "How could I forget that?"

"Why did you do it James?"

"Which part?" he asked wryly.

"All of it," she whispered. "Why did you come back?"

"I don't know, in truth. I told myself I wanted to see you, to know you."

"You told yourself?"

"Part of me wanted to see Max again, too," he confessed.

"Why?"

"To condemn him, to yell at him, to ask him why he let our mother go behind his back and why he let me be born. I don't know."

She nodded. "He loved her," she said. "He couldn't stop her, not really."

"Why did he keep so much from you? I'm guessing I wasn't his only secret."

"I was only just beginning to untangle the web of deceit he wove. But I'm sure he…"

"What, meant well?"

The two were certainly a sight. Slumped on a nicely carpeted floor of the man who killed her father, leaning against a rickety old lounge that wasn't likely to hold them much longer, chatting calmly about her father's dark life. And death.

James seemed to be thinking along the same lines. It was downright laughable, if you looked at it the right way. It took a death, a murderer and a wrongful murder charge to make this happen – typical of their messed up existences, collectively of course. They were both complete wrecks – and they wouldn't have each other any other way.

They fell into a contemplative silence, and Jordan must have drifted off, because the next sound she heard was a car pulling up outside the house. Panic stabbed into her belly and she rolled over shaking James who was also asleep. She looked at her.

"What?"

"He's here," she hissed.

"Jordan?" the call was heard only faintly, but heard nonetheless by the two. James jumped up as if he had been burned and looked around wildly.

"Déjà vu," he muttered.

"Come back," she said to him, but wasn't sure if he'd heard as he had already turned his back. She ran to the back window and watched him run away into the night. She was getting thoroughly sick of seeing her brothers back, but reasoned it was far better than watching him look at her with sunken eyes and bedraggled hair from the bars of a jail cell.

"Jordan?" the call came again.

"In here," she shouted, walking towards the front of the house. He came into view, and she almost smiled. He had the look of one who had only just woken up, his hair was ruffled and his clothes were wrinkled. His eyes had a look that was a cross between anger and fright as he pushed open the door.

"I told you to wait in the car," he said, stopping and staring at her, taking in her nervous, panicked look, flushed face and the deep breaths she was dragging into herself in an attempt to calm her racing heart.

"It was…" she fished around for an excuse. "Does it matter?" she asked irritably when she couldn't think of a plausible one.

"Yes, it does," he said, pulling gloves on. "Did you touch anything?"

"Yes," she said.

He rolled his eyes. She did it back at him, half-mocking, half-serious.

"Is it going to be admissible anyway?" she asked.

"If we sell it right," he said. "If we say you weren't here."

"Ah. You came here yourself in the middle of the night."

"You shouldn't have come," he muttered, rummaging through drawers.

"I've already looked," she told him, ignoring the comment.

"Well look again," he growled. She shrugged and did as he bade.

"Is the car here?" he asked after a while.

"I don't know, I didn't look," she said. He gave her a look and ceased his rifling. She followed him.

"What are you doing?" she asked. He ignored her. "Look, I know you're pissed at me…"

He whirled around. "Damn right," he said. "Do you know how worried I was when I woke up and you weren't there?"

"You don't have to worry…" she began, but the cut through her.

"About my job if you disappear? I practically wouldn't have one!"

She bristled, hurt. "I wouldn't do a complete runner," she just short of shouted.

"No?" he yelled back. "You wouldn't? You've changed, is that it?"

"Don't you dare…"

"Don't _I _dare? Don't I? God, Jordan! You should not be here!"

"Well neither should you, so I guess we go down together," she said in a low voice. "Why did you come if you were so worried about your job? I told you I would be back by morning."

He opened his mouth, but thought better, and shut it, turning his back on her, and walking towards the shed.

She shook her head with intense frustration and followed him. She opened her mouth at the car that was sitting innocently on the concreted floor.

"I didn't even think to look in here," she said, and allowed herself to grow excited. "I'll look in the car."

"No, I will," he said roughly, pushing past her. "You stay there."

She breathed deeply, containing her anger and turned around. She opened a cupboard door, not really expecting to find anything.

"Here!" came a shout from the car. She ran towards it, cupboard forgotten.

"What?"

"Receipt!" he said, and their quarrel was forgotten as he held out a scrap of paper. She reached for it but he yanked it away.

"Gloves," he warned, and turned its face back to his own. "This is a receipt for fuel in Boston…_the day your father was murdered._"

He delighted in the relief that crossed her face.

"Thank god," she breathed.

Hating to quash her excitement, he was reluctant to stamp on the party.

"Its not enough," he said. "We need more to overturn your charge. The evidence…"

"Puts me there. I know. Lets keep going, huh?"

She turned and went back to the cupboards, feeling his eyes bore into her back, allowing the first trickle of hope to creep in.

Fifteen minutes into the search, it was she who shouted, "Here!"

He came over.

"Guns," was all the said, and left it to him as he opened the door of the cupboard. "I can't believe we didn't look here."

He was too preoccupied to take any notice of the comment.

"Right," he said, standing. "What do we…" He was cut short by another shout from the ME. She was pointing at a small rectangular box at the back, almost hidden by the guns. He pulled it out and opened it, mouth opening as he rifled through what seemed to be papers. He looked helplessly at her.

"What?" she asked. Normally, she would have grabbed the box out of his hands, but looking at the expression on his face, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

"Gloves," he muttered, and handed her a pair, which she pulled on expertly, and took the box gingerly from his hands. She dropped her eyes to the box, and Woody watched them grow round before narrowing.

"My God," she uttered.


	16. Breakfast, Anyone?

**A/N: NadezhdaSt - Ooh internet clubs - fancy! I don't think we have those here...lets hope my internet doesn't stuff up anytime soon...god I don't think I could function without a computer! Sad, huh? LOL yeah the gathering's a tad more civilised, against your prediction but that could change, they haven't even been served yet...I'm sure I would rustle up some screaming matches - and preferences as to between who? lol. Glad you joined up to that site - what do you think?**

**Lioness-Rampant, Tricksters Queen of War and Orlando-crazy - many thanks for reading and of course reviewing! Hail reviews! hehe.**

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**Chapter 16: Breakfast, anyone?**

"Maybe he was being serious," Woody said weakly, watching Jordan's reaction as she rifled through the box. The colour had drained from her face and on it was a stony expression that told the detective that if Koreldy wasn't dead, he sure as hell would be now.

"I can't believe it," she said, then looked at him. "Well, I can."

In the box were a number of articles, that all had one thing in common. They were both about her or her father, and in one case, her brother. "This is everything," she said weakly. "I can't think of one thing that has happened that deserves to be in a paper that isn't here."

There was a few articles about the Digger cases, even from before the serial killer succeeded in burying her alive, which she could not fathom. It was almost as if he knew she would be targeted, or at the very least had kept the papers _in case. _She shook her head – she had not been able to figure him out before, she wouldn't be able to now.

There were articles from every damn dangerous case she had ever been involved in, some she didn't even remember! Her blood ran cold when she stared at one that was about some case she cracked in LA. This whack job had been following her, _really _following her.

"This one's about you," she said, surprised, handing Woody an article. "Well not just you, but something you were in."

It was the article on the case of the Purgatory killer that he and Elaine had worked on a couple of years ago.

"Why…?" he started. Jordan shrugged, and continued to look through the box. If possible she was even more horrified when she saw a lock of hair tied with a blue ribbon, knowing instantly that it was hers.

"God," she uttered, for the second time, and showed it to Woody who instantly grew angry then contemptuous as he realised the psycho was already dead therefore impossible to kill.

"Bastard," he said.

"What I wanna know," she said in a hoarse voice. "Is, if he got close enough to me to do this," she gestured to the hair. "Why didn't he kill me?"

"I think his obsession changed," he said. "He started off with your father, then moved to you. Look at the dates on these articles."

Jordan suddenly realised they were both sitting on the floor as he tipped out the contents of the box and looked at the articles and pictures.

"Early on," he continued, then pointed to a few articles. "Max, Max, Max, Max, you, Max, Max, Max, you, you, Max, Max, Max, you, you, you and Max…"

"Dad and I?"

"The Tom Malden thing, before it was resolved." He continued. "James, you, you, you, Max, you, you, you…and the rest you."

"Great," she said. "I have to say this is the first time someone has had an obsessive…" she started to say something sarcastic but Woody cut over her.

"This could damn him and save you," he said.

"You think?" she said scathingly. "Lets go."

"No!" he said quickly, and she looked at him. "Oh come on, Jordan! Can't you imagine what Mathers would say? He'd swear we set the whole thing up!"

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know," he said, standing. She followed suit, after having replaced all the articles and the lock of hair in the box.

"We have to do something about this, test the guns, something!"

"I know!" he said, face creased in concentration. "Ok. We leave here, now. We go back home, we ring the BPD, Mathers maybe, suggest he look here…"

She was shaking her head. "No way. So many questions!"

"Fine. We get a damn story straight then."

"Its not plausible. What, suddenly we decide to come look here?"

"I don't know! What do you suggest?"

"That the cops are morons."

Woody gave her a look. "I am going to let that comment slide…"

"Why didn't they look to start with? Did you put the receipt back?"

He shook his head and went and did it, while she put all the stuff she had out back, including the guns.

"Now it's as if we weren't here," she said, stepping back. "We just go, maybe to the morgue, call Renee and…"

"And what, Jordan? Aren't you hearing me?" He was suddenly angry. They had found so much, so damn _much_, and they couldn't do a thing about it.

She remained silent, knowing full well this was entirely her fault. All of it. Maybe if she'd remained behind the line, so to speak, her whole life instead of getting up everyone's nose every chance she had, maybe she wouldn't be charged with murder, maybe her father wouldn't even be dead. She had brought this down upon herself.

Woody watched her carefully, trying to read the thoughts that were obviously racing through her mind, but not able to. She was guarding herself well. He had seen her break down, in this same backyard, when she thought he had gone, thought she had sufficiently put her point across. He had left, she had bowed her head and he knew she had, at that moment, felt the full force of everything that had happened. Then Garret had come, and joined him at the door, watching her, watching him.

"What happened?" he had asked. Woody looked at him.

"You tell me," he said in a hard voice. Garret had sighed, shrugged, and then gone out to sit with her. She had spoken to him, about what he had not heard. When he put his arm around her, Woody was glad, glad that she could relate to someone, that she had at least one person to rely on. And regretful that it could not be him.

-------

After he ran, for a third time (that cop was getting downright annoying,) James made a decision. He had never exactly been a thinking man, and wasn't going to start now. So he acted on impulse, and hid in his sister's car. He crouched down in the back seat, feet going numb and tingly, and waited. He had almost dozed off when he heard voices. He sat up, shifting around in the backseat and watched the two approach, both empty handed. He sighed – he had really wished they had found something, that the cop, as irritating as he was, had a bag of tricks that he could just dip into and solve the whole mess.

"_It doesn't work that way." _

The top of his head and his eyes were visible in the window of the car, and he resisted the impulse to duck down again as Jordan caught his eyes. The two had been talking but now she broke off, and he could see the effort that it took her to drag her eyes away from him and divert the detective's attention. He noticed she did so with contact, a hand placed on his arm obviously wiped away any suspicion that may have been forming in his policeman-at-heart mind, and smiled. She was obviously manipulating him, was obviously very accomplished at it. And she probably did it unconsciously, because she was without a doubt the most genuine person he had ever met.

"What are you doing?" she hissed when she had steered the cop to his own car and jumped into hers.

"I don't know," he said over the engine that had burst into life. "What are you doing?"

"Point taken," she conceded, and he strapped himself in the back, watching the car in front take off. "So when we get to Boston…what's your plan? I mean obviously you can't stay with me…" she trailed off and watched him through the rear view mirror.

"You didn't find anything," he said after a while of driving in silence.

She hesitated. "Yes." She proceeded to tell him.

"And you left it there?" he asked, incredulous, and a little disturbed that Koreldy had been telling the truth.

"We had to," she said in a strangled voice, tone belying her words.

"What's _your _plan, then?" he said, bringing yet another point home.

"Woody reckons we just play it cool."

"Woody being…"

"The detective." She gestured to the car in front. He nodded.

"He thinks we should just suggest blithely that we should go check the house out. Hopefully we didn't leave any traces of ourselves…" she stopped abruptly. "Listen to me," she said, harshly, making James frown. She was staring ahead, not really watching the road. "Talking like a criminal. Like I have something to hide! Dammit!"

James watched carefully. "I shouldn't have shot him," she said.

"You did all you could," he said stiffly, comforting and reassuring not exactly his strong point. She nodded.

"I know. Its just so…"

"Pointless. I know."

"I was going to say helpless, but pointless works. Something-less, in any case." She shrugged and allowed a smile to come forward. He grinned in response and they drove home.

----------

As the sun made its presence known, two cars trundled almost lethargically into the city of Boston, merging into the other early hour traffic, like they had done it every day of their lives. Jordan shook her brother awake reluctantly, doubting that he had had much chance to sleep prior to and in between their increasingly frequent meetings. He was awake immediately, undid his seatbelt and crouched down.

"I'll park somewhere discreet," she murmured, and followed the car in front of her as it turned down her street. She parked, bid her brother goodbye, and walked up to her apartment, Woody following her. She stopped in her tracks, listening intently as she heard a female voice.

"They're not here, and they're not answering their cells."

Woody frowned, watching the recognition on her face.

"Renee," she muttered, looking at him. He closed his eyes and walked past her, jumping the stairs two at a time, until they reached her floor. When the door to apartment 311 came into view, they knew Jordan had been right. The DA was standing at the door, gaping at them, phone forgotten by her ear. She hung up abruptly.

"Where have you two been?" she asked accusingly. Woody opened his mouth and shut it again, and Jordan almost rolled her eyes, he needed to learn how to lie!

"Just out to breakfast," she said, shrugging. "What brings you here at…" she looked at her watch. "5:30am?"

"Probably not the same thing that has you two up and about at this hour," she said, eyes drifting over the two of them, taking in their dishevelled appearances, including the bags under their eyes and the wrinkles in their clothes. She wasn't buying their 'breakfast' story, but her suspicion of what they had been up to was far from the truth – it didn't even pertain to the case. It had the desired affect, and even though Jordan reddened when she realised what the DA thought they had been doing, she didn't correct the assumption as it served them well, or well enough under the circumstances. Woody had no idea what she was talking about, or the almost bashful demeanour that had come over his friend. He shook his head – it really was of no consequence.

"I was actually going to ask if you wanted to have breakfast, but I think that we should make it lunch. I'll round up the gang." She smiled dryly to herself, and rattled off the name of a café. The pair were only too happy to accept the offer, wanting to get inside and figure out what the hell they were going to do. She nodded and walked off.

"Breakfast my arse," Jordan muttered, fumbling with her keys. "She was here to check on us."

"What did she think we would do?" he asked scathingly. She turned and looked at him.

"What happened last night."

He grinned wryly, not able to help himself. She narrowed her eyes.

"You were not a cop."

"Huh?"

"Don't feel obliged to do 'the right thing'. You were there as a civilian, not a detective."

"You can't separate the two, Jordan. I'm not going to rat you out."

"Good, because I did nothing wrong."

"I know."

She looked at him for a little longer, making him shift uncomfortably, before turning and letting them both in.

"You bed, me couch," she said.

"No, no, you have the bed."

"It's the least I can do," she said, and he knew that was the closest to an apology that he would get out of her. He nodded.

"Rightio." He started to walk off, before turning back. "Hang on. Should I handcuff you to the table or something? You're not going to run off on me again?"

She gave him a withering look. "Of course not," she said, and he shook his head and walked into her room, pretty sure that she probably would, but too exhausted to care.

--------

They woke up at approximately 11am, to the sound of the alarm Jordan had set. It took her a while to orientate herself, sleep sure felt damn good to someone as deprived of it as her. She had probably not had more than 12 hours sleep collectively since her father was…murdered. She forced herself to say it in her mind, which opened the floodgate and a thousand memories poured into her mind.

"Oh God," she whispered, putting a hand to her head.

"What?" the voice made her jump. She looked up and Woody stood there watching her.

"I just remembered I have to make the funeral arrangements."

_Fine job, _she commended herself, proud of how steady her voice could be when she tried, even though it was threatening to break. Woody saw right through it, but didn't say anything. She would deal with it her own way, and if she needed him she would say. He hoped.

----------

Once Jordan, Woody, Garret, Harding and Renee were seated around a much-too-small table, they looked at each other, none really knowing what they were there to discuss.

"I suppose this is in continuation of last night's conversation?" She directed the query at the DA who shrugged.

"I had the feeling we were intruding on something last night."

Jordan shifted uncomfortably in her seat, knowing to what Renee was referring and not particularly relishing that she believed that.

"I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about," she lied, and looked at Garret.

"I think we should have Koreldy's house searched."

Woody's discreet intake of breath caused her to grit her teeth and she only just refrained from shooting him a dark look.

"Good idea," Woody cut in, catching Harding's eye. The ME was sitting back in her chair, watching them all, but particularly Woody and Jordan, very carefully. "I'll call the NYPD."

"Wait," Renee said , looking at them. "What do you think we will find at Koreldy's place?"  
Jordan pulled a helpless look together, which Garret saw as transparent. "I don't know," she said, shrugging. "Something that could point to him, something that puts him in Boston."

"Such as?"

"I don't know! But it's worth a look, isn't it?"

"Yes," Renee conceded, and looked at Woody. "Call them."

"Thanks for the go ahead," he muttered under his breath, dialling the number.


	17. Don't Panic

**A/N: Many thanks Jinubean! Sorry about the lenghty chapters - I'm used to the 2,500 word ones now, I'm a girl of tradition, hehe, but I can gradually make them shorter ir you want, eg this ones only 2,300. Haha. Big difference. Haha - hint taken! I've been trying to get them together for this whole ep but Garret keeps showing up and sticking his big nose in things. LOL. Seriously - at the end of chapter 8 it was meant to be Woody comforting her, then Garret showed up. LOL. They had a fight all of their own accord, don't blame me! lol.**

**Thanks again to Orlando-crazy and Lioness-Rampant!**

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**Chapter 17: Don't Panic…**

"Jordan." Garret leaned forward, watching his friend carefully. There was a quiet determination in her eyes, mixed with a sense of desperation as she watched Woody talking into his phone over to the side of their table. The wind picked up and her hair whipped out of her face, revealing the tell tale signs that she hadn't had much sleep. And he didn't really blame her.

"Mm?" she said, distracted, and turned her face to look at him.

"I hate to bring this up, but you're going to have to make some arrangements for…"

"Its all taken care of," she said. "I made a few calls this morning."

"You did?" He was surprised. He knew her, and knew enough to know that she would be in denial, and that making these arrangements would be, to her, a declaration of acquiescence. That she gave up, that she was not going to fight anymore. She held his gaze and he suddenly realised, she was growing up. He allowed himself a small smile at the fatherly thought, but knew it to be the truth. Sometimes she could be as wise as an old sage, but most of the time she was reckless and wayward, and he had thought that her father's death would only fuel those tendencies, spark the dynamite, cause her to do something really stupid. Or, more likely, a whole string of really stupid things. So far she'd only done one, and that was to go to New York after her brother. He had been thoroughly surprised at the way she'd handled herself throughout the whole ordeal, albeit subconsciously. Now, at this calm statement, it hit him with considerable force. He sighed as she looked back to the detective, and caught the furtive look that passed between them as he snapped his phone shut and joined them again.

"He said he'd check it out," he said, looking at Renee, who nodded. Garret wasn't exactly sure why he was here, why Renee had called him. Out of courtesy, politeness? Or was there something else behind it? Did she not want him to forget his part in this? The autopsy he had performed? Did she want to rub his face in it, that she had been right and he wrong? Or maybe she wanted to see him squirm, for the first time in their rocky acquaintance. Maybe she knew how much this had affected him, and wanted to watch. Every single gruelling moment of it.

"Are you ordering, Dr. Macy?" He jolted out of his reverie and looked around the table. Renee and Harding were chatting in a low voice opposite him, and Woody was staring at him. Jordan was speaking to the waiter who stood expectantly to one side. She finished up and the three stared at him.

"I'll have a…" He glanced at the menu, and, feeling pressured, said, "I'll have what she's having."

Jordan and Woody exchanged a glance, smiles on their faces. The waiter nodded and walked off.

"A vege burger with a bottle of water?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"I…what?"

Jordan laughed. "Just playing with your head." She held her hands out and wiggled her fingers, playing at mysterious, and laughed again, tossing her head. The two men grinned in response, not able to help themselves, but Garret could see as clear as day, the other layer, the one behind the carefree, the dark one that was only just being kept at bay.

The wind tugged gently at her hair as she sat back in her seat again, her contribution for the moment out of the way. She just wanted to go home, wanted Woody to go somewhere else, she just wanted to be alone, but apparently being alone was eluding her. She was still in 'custody', and both Renee and Woody would not be convinced that she could be trusted to hang around. Especially not after last night's stunt, which was still preying on her mind like a dog with an especially juicy bone. She sighed, resigning herself to the regimented regime she knew she would continue to be subjected to.

When their food had arrived, and Garret had made sure that he was actually eating meat, they ate, glad for the distraction. Just as they were finishing up, a phone rang and comically, everyone straightened and reached for their own. Smiling at one another sheepishly, they watched as Woody answered.

"You…what? That's wonderful! I…no. Better just send photos. We'll just compare records, no need for…oh. Right. Oh my god!"

He was doing surprised well enough, she figured, but this oh my god sounded a little too genuine to be an act. He sought her eyes and found the question in them and he shrugged slightly. Maybe he was a better actor than she gave him credit for.

"No. You better send it down then. Oh, there's really no need for…" He sighed heavily. "Fine. Do it."

He snapped his phone shut, obviously deep in thought. "Well?" Jordan asked impatiently.

"They found something."

"That was quick," Renee interjected.

"They're sending someone down."

"Someone?" Jordan asked.

"Someone to oversee the analysis."

"We'll do it at the morgue," Harding piped up.

"No. They're going to do it in the police labs."

"This is a murder investigation. Our murder investigation. We'll do it at the morgue."

They all stared at her, Garret and Jordan smiling lightly, Woody and Renee frowning. She shrugged. "Makes sense."

Woody sighed then nodded. "I guess I'll talk them around."

Before any of them really knew what happened, Jordan has sprung to her feet and was staring at something across the street. She squinted. A man was walking, a tall man with greying golden hair… transfixed she stared, colour draining from her face.

"Jordan?"

Her head snapped around and she stared at the speaker, Garret, who was standing not knowing what to do. She stared back and the man was walking, but it was with brown hair that he did so, and she sunk back into her seat, swallowing hard.

"Apologies," she said, doing an superb job of keeping her voice under control. _Damn it, _she said over and over in her head, holding her hands together under the table.

Looking up, she was aware that the four of them were staring at her. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead stood stiffly.

"As entertaining as I'm sure this entire thing was, I think its time I left." She pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and threw it down on the table, feeling like she wanted to throw up.

"We haven't even…" Harding started.

"Call me when whatever it is gets here," she said, and walked away. Woody stood, shrugging and followed her. Garret was quiet, watching them go. Renee was as well, but there was a decidedly suspicious look on her face.

"She didn't ask what they found," she said, frowning after them.

-------------

Harding poked her head around the office door to find the Chief staring at the pen sitting loosely in his hand. "Its here. And it's mildly disturbing. Want to come and rifle through it with me?"

He stood. "I'm surprised you came and got me," he said as they walked to Trace.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I had you pegged as Renee's man," he said, and then looked at her. "Or otherwise."

"I'm no one's man," she said, shrugging. He nodded.

"What is it?"

"Guns, a receipt and a box."

"I see," he said, snapping on a pair of gloves and picking up the receipt.

"Its from Boston. Same area the body was found."

"Found in Koreldy's pickup."

He raised an eyebrow and allowed himself to smile. "This is good," he said, and she nodded.

"Take a look at this," she said, holding out the box, and watching as he opened it. His face was neutral a he thumbed through the articles, but he couldn't contain feeling as his gloved hand met with the hair.

"That bastard," he hissed, and bagged it. "Nigel!" he called, and Harding raised an eyebrow. Nigel, who was walking past, stuck his head around the corner irritably.

"Run this, will you?"

Nigel took the bag without a word, and when Garret turned, he saluted, causing Harding to have to work hard to suppress a laugh.

"I suppose you recognise it?" he said.

"Mm," she replied. "I took the liberty of sending the guns to ballistics," she said, "Which explains their absence."

"Okay. Call me when you get the results." He made to walk away, then thought better as he turned.

"What did you make of Renee's comment earlier?"

She looked at him, having anticipated this. "She thinks they knew."

"Do you?"

"To be honest? I don't know. They were both acting weird, though."

"Mm," he conceded, and looked at the box as a distraction. "It doesn't matter. Hoyt would not sanction anything too illegal."

"How do you know? Its her, after all, and you said yourself that there was something between them, and Renee hinted at it as well."

"I'm sure she did," he said through gritted teeth. "But trust me. He arrested her once, you know."

He was pretty much bluffing and they were both well aware of it, but Harding ignored it. "I'm not going to say anything."

"There's nothing to say," the Chief ME insisted, and left the room.

"Whatever you say," she muttered and continued her pottering around the Trace lab.

----------

"Who did you see?"

The woman he was addressing turned her eyes on him coolly. "Excuse me?" she said, perfectly calmly, but Woody knew better.

"At the café. You saw someone. Who did you see?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, and stood up from the couch, walking into the kitchen.

"Okay. Well what about last night?"

"What about last night?"

"Who was that you were talking to?"

"What?"

Panic ran through her and she prayed that he hadn't seen him, seen her brother. And she wondered where on earth he had gone.

"Who were you talking to?"

He knew she was keeping something from her, and he had seen someone running, at least thought he had. He was still half asleep.

"I don't…"

"Please don't lie to me, Jordan, don't lie again."

She looked at him and he immediately wanted to snatch the words back. Sending her on a guilt trip would not help any of them.

"My brother."

He started, but couldn't say he was completely taken aback. It made sense.

"How you got inside."

"He was there."

"Did you know?"

"Not when I went. Not even when you called."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "Why do you think, detective?" she said, slightly stressing the last word. "He's not exactly the Virgin Mary." She cocked her head to the side, thinking her choice of words amusing.

"I wouldn't have…" he trailed off, deep in thought.

"Wouldn't you?" she asked.

They had been sitting in her apartment for about two hours since they returned home from the somewhat eventful lunch at the café, and Jordan had not a minute to herself. Not that she hadn't tried.

"You know me well enough to know I'm kind of a solitary person right?" was her first subtle hint, to which he just smiled infuriatingly.

"I'm serious, Woody. I'm going crazy," was the second, which was far more akin to a sledgehammer.

He adopted a confused expression. "But that would have to mean you weren't crazy to begin with…" He grinned at her and she sent him a withering look, which was only half-serious.

The phone rang, and Jordan had it against her ear in a flash.

"Hey," the voice said.

"Morning, Garret, long time no…speak."

"Long time no work you mean. We better get this wrapped up soon, Bug's threatening vacation!"

"Ouch," she said with feeling. "Did it come?"

"Yeah," he said, and waited.

"Well?" she asked with well-feigned impatience. "What is it?"

"What, you don't know?"

"How could I know?"

"Where were you this morning?"

She closed her eyes. "Ask Renee, she thinks she knows everything."

"I asked her and she hinted at what she suspected."

"Well there you have it."

"Don't be stupid I know where you were!" his shout cut her and she hated lying.

"I was in bed. Woody got a call, we woke up, we had breakfast. End of story."

"That's crap. Why didn't you ask Woody what it was this morning? What they found?"

"I wasn't exactly thinking straight."

Woody was staring at her, question in his eyes, but she just shook her head and mouthed 'Garret'.

"Why? Lack of sleep?"

"Stop it, just stop it!"

"No. I want the…"

"Truth?" she shouted back at him. "Hell, don't we all? Just drop it!"

"How can I? How can I when you're lying so easily? How do I know you haven't lied about…" He broke off.

"I guess you're remembering the conversation we had in my jail cell?" she said coldly. "When I asked you how you knew, why you believed me?"

There was silence. Woody watched, bewildered.

"I trust you," Garret said, sighing.

"Thank you," she said. "And when this is all over, I promise I will tell you everything."

Before he could protest she clicked the phone back down on the cradle and let out a great shuddering sigh, momentarily forgetting that she wasn't alone.

"Hey," Woody said from behind her. "What did he want?"

"Its time for a trip to the morgue," she said. "Lets go and look all shocked and horrified that I apparently had a psychotic stalker."

"Just another day at the office," Woody murmured, following her out.


	18. Severed

**A/N: KittyDoggyLover, Jinubean, Orlando-crazy and Lioness-Rampant, thanks for reviewing Ch17! Luv ya:P**

**Okay...its time to wrap this thing up...final chapter and all... **

* * *

**Chapter 18: Severed**

"Ah," she said inadequately as she stared down into the box.

"Ah?" Harding asked. "That's it?"

Jordan made a noise in her throat. "Did you run the hair?"

"Yours."

She nodded, and something hit her. She was taken, again, back to the night this whole nightmare started.

_A feeling of dark horror swept over her leaving her feeling ill._

"_No," she uttered, eyes transfixed on the body. "No, no, no…"_

_She stood, rooted to the spot, staring at the man. His eyes were open in a death stare, depicting the terror of his last moments. "No, no, no…" _

The words took on a trance like feeling as she repeated the word over and over, as if somehow that would make it all better, as if somehow that would breath life into the body of the man in front of her, make him smile and laugh and talk again, tell her how much he loved her…

"_No…" When she could move again, she backed away, numb, terrified._

She pulled out of the memory and stared. Not once had she touched him, not once had she gone close enough to him to leave the hair that was so damning her. Staring at the lock in front of her, she realised the full magnitude of Koreldy's manipulation. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it as she spotted Mathers coming down the corridor. She had the strangest impulse to duck behind the counter, and had to physically stop herself from doing so as he came through the door, Garret, scowling, in tow. Woody moved closer to her, as if offering support, and she braced herself.

"What are you doing here?" Mathers said, eyeing the ME. She met his stare and glared back.

"I work here."

"Not at the moment you don't. You really shouldn't be here."

"Well I am," she said, and was about to allow the thoughts and frustration to release itself in the form of an insulting comment towards the detective, but Woody nudged her gently and she sighed instead, looking to Harding, who jerked into action.

"Detective," she addressed Mathers, and Jordan noted with a barely concealed grin the way her voice changed. _You manipulative old fox, _she thought genially and watched carefully. "I told you about the search on the Koreldy house this morning?"

"Who initiated it?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but it was Woody who addressed the older detective.

"I gave the NYPD a call this morning," he said.

"I'm sure you did," he said. "I thought you were told to stay well away from this case? _Well_ away?" He sent Jordan a look of distaste as if to cement his point. Jordan returned it kind and he snorted softly and looked away.

"I was just helping out a friend," Woody said, and blinked under the other man's scrutiny.

"Yes," he just short of sneered. "I can see that. Anyway, the results are the same. What do we have?"

He effectively dismissed the two open mouthed 'rebels' standing in front of him as he cut in front of them to stand behind Harding.

"A box. Seems Koreldy had a small fascination with the Cavanaugh's."

He made a noise in his throat as he looked at the articles procured by the ME.

"This sheds new light on the investigation, I must say," he said, and Jordan and Woody exchanged an incredulous glance. "But it doesn't mean much. The hair was hers?"

"Yep. 100 match."

"Okay. Ballistics back?"

"Its funny you should say that," Nigel said from the door. "Just got them in." He was grinning widely as he winked at his friend.

"It's a match for the bullet found in Max," he said excitedly, addressing Jordan instead of Mathers, which pissed him off no end. Jordan found herself grinning back; the relief was all the sweeter because she had not allowed herself to hope, had forced herself to dwell on the downside. She turned to Woody and he smiled at her genuinely.

"That's wonderful," he said, and they stared at each other for a minute before Mathers cleared his throat.

"It's not as simple as that," he said. "Don't you understand? There is nothing putting him there."

"The guns match," she said slowly. "The receipt for fuel from Boston from the day of the murder…"

"Yes. But…" he stopped, as if sizing them up. "You could have planted them."

"How dare you accuse me of…"

"What, planting evidence? I would have thought murder would have been more alarming to you." He stared at them, as if just realising something. "But," he said, in a tone that scared Jordan more than the accusation. It was light, as if he had had a complete revelation, as if the shadows had been cast away and he finally could see the light. "You're more worried about the planting evidence charge than the murder charge because you're guilty of the former and not the latter!"

"That doesn't make any sense," Woody said, looking from Jordan to Mathers. Their eyes had locked and they had waged an all out war. The strongest will would win.

"Oh yes it does," he said. "She knows what I mean."

"I am not guilty of either," she said in a strange voice. Mathers nodded.

"Be that as it may…" he said, and widened his eyes momentarily at her, and she caught exactly what he meant. _He knows._

"Well I suppose I'll take your advice and ski-daddle on out of here, then. Coming?"

Woody nodded, bewildered look still plastered on his face, and watched the smug look on Mathers face and the 'sprung' look on Jordan's, wondering why the handcuffs weren't already slapping around their wrists, and not even having the foggiest idea why he would think such a thing.

-----------

"But everything adds up! Damn it, we have everything to charge his dead ass! Why isn't this clearing her?"

"Garret, please," Renee said, look of distaste on her face, evident even over the phone that separated them. "There's still the…"

"The hair, yes I know. I have already explained to you why…"

"And yet, when recounting the events of the night, she never once mentions going near enough to her father to leave it." There was a silence, which Renee took for defeat. "Look, I'm sorry, but…"

"Wait. I'll call you back." He slammed the phone down on the receiver, an idea coursing through his mind. It was too good to be true, there's no way it could…

"Jordan!" he called, spotting his friend stepping into the elevator. Upon hearing him she jumped out, but the detective wasn't quick enough and Garret almost laughed at the look on his face as the doors closed on him, coupled with the triumphant look of freedom on his friends face. She very obviously did not relish having her every step dogged by the man. Garret didn't really blame her. How could he?

"What is it?" she asked.

He looked at her. "The hair," he said.

"Yes," she said, face hardening.

"The hair that damned you could very well be your saviour."

"I don't see how…"

"That night," he started, but the elevator started making the strangest noise, causing them both to look at it. The doors opened and Woody stood there, red faced, and laughing.

"I thought it was stuck."

"You were in a hurry," Jordan observed.

"Hey, I didn't know where Dr. Macy was going to whisk you away to and you know its more than my job's worth to lose you…"

"Yada yada yeah I know. I have heard that same line oh…about fifty times since I was let out?"

Garret chuckled and Jordan looked at him. "You were saying?"

He sobered up quickly, not wanting to go there, especially not out in the open standing in front of an elevator.

"Come," he said and started walking. They followed and he pushed the door open of Trace.

"Hey Nige," he said, and the man jumped up from staring into a microscope.

"Hey Dr. M," he said. "What can I do you for?"

"Go and get the hair from the crime scene, will you?"

"I need Harding's authorization to…"

"Forget that. I'm the Chief, you're following my orders."

"Right-o, Dr. M," he said, shrugging and walking out.

"What are you doing?"

"That night. Did you go near him?"

"I know what you're saying. But I don't remember if I did or not. I mean, I don't think I did but…" she trailed off. "I really don't remember."

Woody stood, again having no clue what the two were going on about, but contenting himself with listening.

Nigel came back in and handed Garret the bag. The Chief ME motioned to Nigel who nodded and dragged the contraption he had been staring into over, and Garret placed the damning hair under it. Lowering his face, he stared into it.

"Yes," he said, and straightened. "Take a look."

Jordan studied his face and bent, not daring to think, not even daring to allow the slightest trace of hope into her mind.

"It's severed!" she said incredulously, silly grin implanting itself onto her face. "It's severed!"

She launched herself into Garret's arms and he was nearly toppled over but squeezed her back tightly, reluctant to let go.

"Thank god," she whispered over and over into her mind, only vaguely hearing her boss's command to Nigel,

"Get Harding in here. Now."

"Severed?" Woody asked dumbly, and bent over the microscope himself. He stood up. "Uh…question – how can you guys tell?"

Jordan disentangled herself from the ME's arms. "Years and years of looking at hair through a microscope, Woodrow. That's as severed as they get!" She grinned at him, and it must have been infectious because he found himself grinning back.

Harding came in; glad she had not yet gone home.

"What is it?" she asked, eyes flickering between the three of them, noting the relieved looks on the men's faces and the almost "dying of relief" look on Jordan's. Macy gestured to the microscope and she frowned, and stepped closer, looking in.

"It's the hair from the crime scene," he told her.

"It's been cut!" she said. "It was planted!" She straightened, looking at Jordan.

"This is very good news, Dr. Cavanaugh," she said, smiling. Jordan could only nod.

"I'll call it in," she continued.

-----------

"Oh come on!" Jordan said in mock irritation as she and Woody walked, again, through her door. "Now that I'm not a psychotic killer, is this really necessary?"

"Now now Jordan," he said, adopting a pompous look. "Until it's been finalised…"

"Finalised my ass," she said.

"Now there's a nice image," he said. "What's for dinner?"

"How does pizza sound?" she asked. "Your shout."

"Oh how generous of you."

There was a thump on the fire escape, and Woody's head snapped around.

"Hey," Jordan said, frantically trying to get his attention. "I feel like Chinese, which sadly doesn't deliver. Go fetch."

"What was that noise?"

"What noise?"

"A thump. Outside."

"Oh, that. Probably another bird."

"Bird?"

"Yeah. I'm hungry. Go get food."

Woody shook his head, forgetting about the noise. "Why are you so eager to get rid of me?"

"I just want to be alone at the moment. Just to try and think things through. Please, Woody."

"Fine," he said, holding his arms up. "Stay here."

She rolled her eyes and watched in relief as he walked out and shut the door behind him. Rushing over to the window she could have grinned when she saw her brother perched on the fire escape.

"He still here?" he growled, staring at the door.

"I'm afraid so," she said, wrinkling her nose suggesting to him that she as well wasn't happy with the arrangement.

"Look," he said, climbing in the window. "I've been thinking. There is no way I'm going to let you cop it for his murder. I'm going to turn myself in, tell them what I heard. If that fails, I'll confess to it myself."

"No, James…"

"I've been a pretty shitty brother up until now, let me rectify it."

"There's no need, it's all over."

"What? Don't give up, don't…"

"I don't mean that, I mean its over! I'm cleared!"

James' face changed, and lit up with a grin. "That's brilliant!" he said.

"Not relishing having to go to jail?" she asked. "Not that I would have let you turn yourself in anyway."

"You wouldn't have?"

"Of course not. Having a fugitive brother is fun."

He smiled at the wry tone in her voice. "So, back to the grieving daughter, huh?"

She swallowed. "I never really considered the murder suspects before," she said, and laughed, shaking her head. "Thank god its over. Its such a great weight off everything."

He nodded. "Guess I better go back to my life then."

"Or lack thereof?" she said, looking at him.

"What can I do?" he said. She shrugged. They were silent.

"One more hurdle," she said. "Before I can get back to mine."

"Oh?"

"The funeral," she said.

"Ah," he said, dropping his eyes. "When is it?"

"Tomorrow," she said. "It's already been longer than the…suggested time to wait but what with everything…"

"Don't worry," he said. She looked at him and he shrugged. "I guess I'll see you around then," he said as they heard a car pull up below.

"Yeah," she said in a choked voice, wanting to scream at him to stay, tell him she would help him, protect him. But she couldn't. Not when she could hardly help herself.

She stood there at the window after he had gone, watching the wind play with the leave on the trees, sweep the dust along the street, tug at people's clothes and hair. Something inside her broke, and everything came crashing down onto her. The tears fell then, those that had been bottled inside her, in her attempt at 'strength'. She spat the word into her mind. Humans did not have it in them to be strong. Not her, not James, not her father. Certainly not Koreldy. _We bite and bite until we can bite no more, until it comes back to bite us in return._

That was how Woody found her. He came back, opened the door with the key he had procured, holding out the Chinese food cartons and preparing to make some stupid comment or another. But he saw her, slumped against the window. He hurried over to make sure she was alive, but wished he hadn't. She was so strong, so hardy, for her to break something had to be wrong, something wasn't right. _Of course not you ass, _he said to himself. _Her father has just been murdered. _But if she could not be strong, what hope did the rest of them have?

"Hey," he soothed. "What is it?"

"He's gone," she said, referring to her father and her brother at the same time, unbeknownst to him.

"Yes," Woody said inadequately, bobbing down beside her. "You okay?"

She turned her tear-streaked face to him and he broke. "Oh god, Jordan," he said. Her eyes were red, not just from weeping but from severe sleep deprivation as well.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to stop the flow, but the pain had broken the wall she had erected and it wasn't looking like repairing itself anytime soon. For all the people to see her, all the people who could have walked in, it had to be him. She shook her head, it didn't even matter. Nothing did, not really. Not if their lives could be snatched away as easily as her father's had. Being a medical examiner, one would think she would have reached that realisation sooner, but sometimes other peoples' experiences remain just that – theirs. She wasn't to learn from their mistakes, only hers.

"You have nothing to apologise for," he said forcefully. "Nothing."

He gingerly reached an arm around her shoulders, and she nodded, wanting to believe him, almost allowing herself too. She breathed, deep shuddering breaths, as she wept for her father, who's life had been taken, and a brother who never had one to start with.

"It's going to be fine," Woody whispered. "I promise."

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**A/N: Well that's that, I suppose! Thank you guys sooo much for the wonderful reviews! I'm serious - thats the only thing that kept this going! Haha - I just put all the chapters into one document and it was like 97 pages. Terrifying. How did I manage to write 97 pages in a matter of a month or so? Oh well.**

**Thanks in advance to anyone who reviews this chapter because obviously, seeing as it has ended I wont be able to thank you or reply in an a/n...oh well maybe next time!**

**Speaking of which - I have an idea for a new fic - involving a train wreck, some dental records and a psychotic killer with an evil diabolical fool-proof plan to wreak havoc on the lives of those who put him away the first time...guess who? lol. So read it. Haha.**

**Ok - well please leave feedback, what I could have done better, what else I could have put in, if the ending was alright...etc etc.**

**Thanks again! This has been fun:D**


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